The Nuance of Black
by MizDazey
Summary: The Black inheritance is less about money or prestige and far more about casual cruelty and utter recklessness and mad passion. Even after being disowned, can Sirius escape his inheritance?
1. Chapter 1

_Quidditch Practice in Detention is (Rarely) a Good Idea_

"Oh, shit, Prongs!" Sirius Black whisper-shouted, flinging himself across the desk to snatch up the jar of pickled Peruvian tree frog James Potter had just deliberately knocked to the floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid git," Sirius muttered, delicately placing the tree frog back in its jar, and half-heartedly clamping the lid back in place, deciding that it would probably stay closed. And if some student picked it up without realizing the lid was askew, and got a face full of pickled frog guts, well, so be it. Hopefully it at least would be a Slytherin.

"Merlin, Prongs, we'll be here an extra hour if Slughorn sees you on purpose dropping his stupid ingredients. _We're meant to be learning respect for Potions, my dear boy_." Sirius dropped his voice, and wagged his finger at James, doing a rather poor impression of Slughorn. Somehow, he never could twist his lean face into anything approaching the jowly countenance of their Potions Master.

James smirked. "Padfoot, you twit, since we've unfortunately been forced to skip tonight's training, as Quidditch captain-to-be, I'm merely helping you hone your reflexes. Catching that jar was practice, obviously."

Sirius almost picked up a jar of his own to fling at James' grinning face. "You stupid bleater, I'm a beater. I don't have to catch anything."

"Fine. Transfigure something into a bat, and I'll toss these at you." James curled his fingers around a pair of jars, containing, Sirius realized, dried essence of dittany, and something reddish-pink that pulsed faintly in some kind of syrup.

Sirius was terrible at Potions; something about adding finicky bits to other finicky bits while counting backwards from 1000 by 12s while standing still for hours made him want to burst out of his skin, and float away from the damp and the fumes of their dungeon classroom. Thus, he had absolutely no idea what funny or disastrous thing might happen if he were to shatter these jars. He was only handling them because Slughorn had set him and James to re-writing the faded labels on the pile of dusty jars, after the pair of boys had spent their previous Potions lesson making Fire-whiskey infused hot chocolate in their cauldron, and surreptitiously handing out cups of it to their classmates.

James quirked his eyebrows, and hefted the jar of pinkish fungus, which shifted wetly in its gelatinous mixture, sending a shiver of anticipation up Sirius' spine. It would make _such _a fucking mess when it smashed.

Sirius scooped up his quill and whispered _Avenir Baton_, holding the dimensions and shape of a Beater's bat in his mind, drawing his wand down the length of the quill. Silver light rippled in the wake of his wand, and suddenly his quill was 3 feet longer, and made of wood. Sirius gripped the bat with both hands, and bent his knees, ready to pummel the jar tossed by his best friend.

He shuddered slightly, feeling the excitement of this idea in his shoulders and the pit of his stomach; because Sirius Black was never happier than when he was turning things on their unsuspecting heads. He loved disorder and cacophony and chaos, and doing this would create all three of those things, and the outcome of this was unpredictable, _and _it was potentially dangerous, _and _it would demonstrate the full measure of his disrespect for Slughorn, who always looked at Sirius wistfully, as if he wanted to be him, or have him, or own him.

Sirius licked his lips, completely lost in the deliciousness of this idea, beyond ready to piss off Slughorn, supremely uncaring of the consequences that would result from this. "C'mon, Prongs," he growled, staring fixedly at the jar in James' hand, ready for the pitch.

Sirius, focused as he was, missed the consternation flash across James' face, as James reconsidered this idea. Most of the time, James felt like he and Sirius lived inside each others' heads, and that was wonderful, obviously. But sometimes, at moments like this, or other times when Sirius suggested pranks that would be more painful than they would be funny, or when Sirius continued torturing Snape or some other Slytherin long after James had decided that he himself was quite finished being a bastard, James realized that he and Sirius were not quite the twins everyone believed them to be.

Sometimes, when Sirius disappeared into a place inside his own head that James could not and did not wish to follow him to, it seemed like Sirius was slipping into his family inheritance, and was becoming someone who deserved the surname Black. But, after 5 years of being Sirius' friend, James knew how to send him there, but he also knew how to bring him back.

James grinned at his friend. "Ready, Padfoot?" he whispered, and tossed the jar.

Just before Sirius made contact with the jar, James Vanished it. Sirius, carried by the momentum of his swing, kept spinning, and made a full circle before stopping unsteadily and glaring at James.

"What the he-"

"_Augumenti!_" James roared, and shot a spray of freezing water at Sirius, completely drenching him.

Sirius, his long hair dripping into his eyes, and his robes clinging to his frame, raised the bat, and advanced toward James.

From the front of the classroom, Slughorn, who could no longer ignore the antics of the Gryffindor boys, shouted at them to behave, and heaved his ponderous form up off his seat to tell them off.

"Padfoot, mate," James held his hands out toward Sirius, smiling nervously. "Again, as your Quidditch captain, I was just testing your, um, abilities, you know, to dodge."

"No, Potter, I get it," Sirius replied, baring his teeth at James, and stalking down the aisle toward his friend. "I respect what you're doing for me. So, c'mere and stand still, and I'll practice my Beating abilities some more. With your head."


	2. Chapter 2

_Fratern(al)ization_

"So, mate, I'm sorry." James reached out a hand toward Sirius, unsure if his friend would take the gesture, or if right now was a time when Sirius would absolutely combust if anyone made him feel pitiful. They were walking away from Slughorn's classroom, traversing the dungeon corridors quietly out of habit, unsure if any Slytherins would be lurking in any dark corners. James almost hoped they would run into a runty Slytherin or twelve, to give Sirius something else to focus on.

* * *

><p>Their behavior in Slughorn's office had cost them a week's worth of detention, and a scathing lecture on propriety and respect that neither bothered to actually listen to, until the very end when Slughorn regretfully informed them that he would be owling both of their parents with a description of the events of the night.<p>

Both boys had flinched, and James watched as Sirius actually collapsed in on himself, all the light draining from his eyes as he curled his shoulders down, as if to protect himself.

James couldn't care less what Slughorn owled to the Potter house, but Sirius would never ask for mercy, so James did it for him.

"Please, Professor," he begged, pitching his voice higher than normal, trying to sound pathetic. "Please don't owl home. My parents will kill me. We'll do whatever you want, just don't do that, please."

"No, Potter. It's time you learnt that actions have consequences." Slughorn shook his head, steepling his fingers over his broad stomach as he looked down his nose at the pair of boys, one almost vibrating with anxiety and the other almost deadened by it.

"You both have such potential, such charisma. I see great things for each of you, and I want you to remember me fondly when you get there." Slughorn winked, and James, desperate to please him, winked back, disgusted with himself for it. "But, you cannot show me such blatant disrespect, and think you'll get away with it."

"Professor, you know that I do-"

"James. Stop it," Sirius muttered, and James clamped his teeth around his last word, ready to support Sirius in any way he could.

Sirius wouldn't lift his eyes to Slughorn's, and spoke with his head down, into his still soaked-robes. "Send them whatever you want. It won't change anything."

"I know, Sirius," Slughorn nodded. "You've no idea how much that pains me."

Sirius laughed, a single gruff bark. "I bet, it pains me a lot more than it pains you."

James shivered; the air in the classroom felt weird suddenly, as if the tiny bit of warmth in the dungeon classroom had leaked from the stones, leaving only frigid air and bitter smells. Slughorn stared at Sirius, and Sirius deliberately stared at anything that wasn't Slughorn, and it didn't look like this standoff would be ending soon.

So, James, once again asking for something Sirius never would, yawned and stretched, rolling his shoulders under his robes. "Professor? I'm tired, and I've got quite a bit of homework, so..." He left the question hanging, giving both Slughorn and Sirius an opportunity to end their stalemate without losing face.

"Alright, Potter, you're both dismissed. I'll see you both tomorrow, at 8 o'clock. I expect you to be prompt, boys." Slughorn wagged his fat fingers at the door, and James plucked a corner of Sirius' robes, and gently dragged him away from Slughorn's desk, and out into the corridor, away from the fat man and his ghoulish interest in the eldest Black boy.

* * *

><p>So, James, now walking with Sirius back to the Tower, was unsure if he should pat his best friend's shoulder in a bracing and manly fashion, or if he should simply trudge along in silence, and let Sirius brood. <em>It's always a difficult question,<em> James mused, trying to gauge if the glint in Sirius' eye meant utter fury or simple weariness or if, Merlin forbid, he might be almost-crying.

"Padfoot..." he tried again, hand still extended.

"Don't be a girl, Prongs," Sirius murmured, batting James' hand away. But, as he knocked at James' hand, his fingers closed around it, tightening and releasing so quickly it was almost nothing. But James understood that it was Sirius wildly seeking comfort but afraid of asking and being rejected and utterly unsure how to explain even to himself what he wanted, so James, who had been hugged and kissed and held every day of his childhood, wrapped an arm around Sirius' shoulders and left it there, as they walked along the corridor.

They encountered no Slytherins, or patrolling Prefects, as they paced through the underground corridors, and James was already shifting out of defensive mode and into sleepy-little-boy mode as they reached the staircase that led up into the Entrance Hall. But, just as James extended a leg to climb the staircase, voices echoed from the Entrance Hall above them, and two figures started down the stairs.

Immediately, James rolled to his right while Sirius rolled left, so the thick stone walls shielded them from the view of whoever was coming down the stairs. It was almost certainly a pair of Slytherins, and, even if it wasn't, James could risk another detention if it pulled Sirius out of his Black mood. The voices got louder as the two people-boys, James realized, as snippets of their conversation floated down the stairs-descended, and James curled his hand around his wand, ready to pounce.

Just as the pair of (hopefully) Slytherins reached the last steps, James and Sirius sprang into action. "_Expelliarmus!" _they both shouted, and two wands shot in wild arcs away from their owners. Both Slytherins scrabbled for their wands, but James, his eyes already adjusted to the dimness of the corridor, snatched up the wands and shoved them into the pocket of the jeans he wore under his robes.

"See, Padfoot," James snickered. "It's a good thing I trained our Quidditch reflexes this evening."

Sirius laughed, and James could hear the joy in it, which almost made up for the fact that he was laughing at someone else's helplessness.

"_Lumos Maxima,_" Sirius whispered, and light flooded the corridor. The four boys all blinked, and one of the Slytherins threw his hands in front of his face. But the Slytherin's hands couldn't hide the patched robes or the greasy hair, and James watched the smirk curl Sirius' lips as he realized who they had captured.

"So, _Snivellus,_ fancy meeting you here." Sirius spoke in a high pitched voice, a terrible imitation of a noblewoman he'd probably seen on the telly he watched avidly whenever they all visited Remus' house.

Clearly, Sirius was so intent on making the wandless Snape squirm that he hadn't realized who their other Slytherin prisoner was.

"Oh, shit," James whispered, watching fear mottle the features of the other Slytherin as he listened to Sirius insult Snape. It was always so strange, James realized, seeing Regulus Black's face, because he looked so much like his brother Sirius, but seemed to lack all of the qualities and peculiarities that James loved in Sirius.

"Sirius," Regulus murmured, and Sirius' eyes flickered from Snape's furious face to his brother's nervous one. Surprise flushed Sirius' cheeks and he gulped.

"Reg? What, what are you doing-"

Regulus opened his mouth to answer, but Sirius held up his hand, and the younger boy swallowed audibly instead.

"Just, go to bed. Leave me and Prongs alone." Sirius gestured back over his shoulder to the corridor that led to the Slytherin dormitory, effectively dismissing his little brother.

Regulus hesitated, and James could see the fury that Sirius would prefer James to Regulus, and the fear that Sirius would be angry with him, and maybe something like pity, too, because Regulus stepped into the space between Sirius and Snape, and folded his arms across his chest.

"No, Sirius. He doesn't have a wand, and you can't hurt him."

"Reg..." Sirius whined, peering over his brother's shoulder at Snape. "Get away from him."

"I don't need protection from you, Black," Snape growled, but both brothers ignored him, both letting him know that his protest hadn't even registered with them.

"Siri," Regulus leaned forward and pushed his fingertips into Sirius' chest, guiding him backwards, away from Snape. "Don't do this. It's just like you...at home. Is it right to hurt someone that can't fight back?"

Sirius sucked in his breath, and James watched his fingers spasm around his wand. Reminding Sirius of his family like this was hitting below the belt, and James would have none of it. James wasn't sure if Regulus was being compassionate towards Snape or was actively torturing Sirius, and neither sounded like fun, or like anything Sirius needed, so James batted Regulus' hand away from Sirius' chest, and shoved the smaller boy down the corridor.

"Goodnight, munchkin," James called, hip-checking Sirius back toward Snape. "It's time for little boys to go to bed." Sirius chuckled, and James smirked, and both Gryffindors raised their wands, excited (which James _knew_ was a bad thing but didn't have time to address at the moment) at the prospect of a little Snape-baiting.

"No!" The command rang in the corridor, and Regulus shoved his way through the shoulders of the Gryffindor boys to stand next to Snape.

Sirius laughed again, but this time there was no joy, only fury. "You pick _him_, little brother?" The word 'brother' sounded ugly in Sirius' mouth, and James saw Regulus flinch. But he stood his ground.

"If you hex me, I'll write to mother. You know how she hates it when her least favorite son teases her Little King." Regulus quirked his head, daring Sirius to do something. "Or, I'll write if you hurt Snape," he added, as if the greasy-haired boy were nothing but an unimportant afterthought in this Battle of the Black brothers.

"He picks Snape," Sirius pointed out to James, trying to sound amused but failing so miserably James winced.

"His loss, Padfoot," James said briskly. "Alright, lads, I'm tired," he announced to the group, but no one moved.

"Fine. Clearly we're doing this the hard way." James pulled Snape and Regulus' wands from his pocket and murmured a spell to lift them into the air, high above their owners' heads. Keeping his own wand trained on the pair of floating wands, James wrapped his hand around Sirius' forearm and pulled him up the stairs, and out into the Entrance Hall.

As the door closed behind him, James heard the wands clatter to the stone floor, and braced himself, waiting for the pair of Slytherins to come charging up the stairs, bent on revenge. Sirius, barely holding on to his wand and stumbling as James pulled him along, looked incapable of defending himself, and James hoped the Slytherin boys would stay in their dungeon, and leave well enough alone, for tonight anyway.

The walk back to the Gryffindor Tower was brief; James glided through patches of moonlight thrown onto the carpeted floors by the arched windows, and Sirius trailed after him, utterly unaware of his surroundings, clearly still back in the dungeons with his little brother who chose to stand on side with Severus Snape.

Just before they reached the Fat Lady, Sirius stopped suddenly, jerking James, who still held his arm, backwards a few steps.

"He picked Snape, Prongs. Why the fuck would he pick Snape? Over me." Sirius's voice was strained and raw with grief, and James wanted to wrap his arms around his friend and tell him, as James' mum would do when James was a little boy, that everything would be alright.

But, that would be weird because boys didn't do that to other boys and also Sirius would hate it, and actually it wouldn't solve the problem at all. Because, everything wouldn't be alright. What James actually wanted to do was go back in time 16 years and make Sirius Black be born a Potter, so that Sirius would be his brother in all ways, instead of every way except the most important one.

"Look, Padfoot," James whispered, hoping this might be a right thing to say. "Yeah, he stood up for Snape. Tonight he chose Snape, whatever. But you chose me. You chose Gryffindor. Your brother, he has to make choices too."

Sirius turned away from James, and dug his hands into the stone wall. James could see Sirius' knuckles turn white, and was worried Sirius might rip his fingernails off, doing that.

"But I thought, he would make the right choice," Sirius murmured, and James leaned in to hear every word. "I thought, if I made the right choice, first, it'd make it easier for him, to make it too."

"He's not you, Padfoot," James said. Then, deciding there had been quite enough angst for one evening, he grinned tentatively. "Besides, you can't have two Black sheep in one family, Padfoot."

Sirius jerked his head up, and smirked. James, thrilled, kept going. "I'm surprised Padfoot isn't a sheep, actually. But a sheep would probably be a bad idea, around Moony, you know."

"You're an idiot, Prongs," Sirius laughed, as he turned toward the Fat Lady.

"And, Padfoot!" James raced after his best friend. "Reg is an idiot for picking Slytherin. He's missing out on a great Marauder nickname!"

Sirius laughed out loud. "Yeah, Prongs, absolutely. No nickname is definitely the worst part of being a Slytherin..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Evanstually, Maybe_

Breakfast the next morning was subdued. This was quite the change from the normal order (or rather, _disorder_)of things; typically, James and Sirius and sometimes Remus and less often Peter held court at the long Gryffindor table, entertaining their year-mates and any pretty girls who might've sat near them, pitching their voices so their jokes and insults resounded throughout the Great Hall.

Each morning, the goal was to make Dumbledore smile into his porridge or make McGonagall drop her toast in consternation, or make Slughorn splutter marmalade down his front, as James and Sirius competed for who could tell the filthiest joke, or who had the best impression of a fellow student, or anything they could think of that might get the attention of anyone that might be listening.

"If everyone didn't think they were so hilarious," Lily Evans always told her friends as the Marauders entertained the breakfast crowd, "everybody would realize how pathetic and needy their little morning performances actually are."

Always, whenever Lily insulted the Marauders, Alice Pettyfer rolled her bright blue eyes and clucked her tongue at her best friend, and responded with something calculated to exasperate Lily.

"Well, Lil, you're probably right. If James Potter wasn't so damn good-looking, everybody _would _laugh at him. And not in the laughing-with-him way that he wants." Alice would wink at Lily. "Good thing you're here to make sure he never forgets that not _every_ girl in school wants to...ah, ride his broomstick?"

And Lily would squawk and gasp and giggle, and shake her head at Alice, and ask where in God's name did Alice come up with these things, and all the Gryffindor girls would go back to eating their breakfast.

Alice and Emily and Eleanor would, of course, continue to watch the Marauders' performance, and would be the straight-men and would cheer the loudest whenever they did something particularly naughty, because these boys were Gryffindors _and _their year-mates and that was much more important than Lily Evans' sensibilities.

Secretly, Lily watched the performances too, fully cognizant that James Potter was performing exclusively for her, and if she asked him-really asked him, not just shouted at him over the orange juice-he would probably stop participating at tomorrow's breakfast, even though this had been an (absurd) morning tradition since 2nd Year.

Sometimes, it made Lily feel powerful, in a way that was neither particularly proper nor polite, to know that if she wanted to, she could reign in James Potter, in a way that Dumbledore and McGonagall and Prefect Remus Lupin could not; that James Potter had given her a power over him that she did not ask for and would never use. (Probably).

And it wasn't like she didn't find James Potter funny; he _was _entertaining, in a somewhat-adolescent kind of way, and he was charming (still in an adolescent way), and he was a lot of other ridiculous and interesting and outrageous things. And, since one of those things was that he was a bastard to Severus, Lily could not let herself like James Potter, because liking James Potter would be, to Severus, the same thing as _disliking_ Severus, and since James had lots of friends and Severus didn't really have any, she had to pick Severus. For fairness' sake.

But, surprisingly, breakfast today was rather more quiet than normal. Discreetly, Lily lifted her eyes from her copy of the _Daily Prophet_, and examined the faces of the four 5th-Year Gryffindor boys sprawling just a few seats down from her and her friends. Remus looked grave and dignified, and Peter looked uncertain and not at all dignified, covered as he was in syrup and strawberry jam. James looked frantic; a ball of vibrating energy trapped in his seat, every nerve in his body strained toward Sirius. And Sirius...he looked as if someone had spent most of the night punching him in the gut, over and over again.

Sirius was hunched over the table, one arm wrapped around himself, the other poking at the food James kept dumping on to his plate. Sirius' shaggy hair hung in his eyes, and deep lines curved his mouth downward into a grimace, as if he tasted something sour.

James flicked his eyes at her, and Lily smiled to herself just a little bit-even when Sirius looked like he wanted to jump off the Astronomy Tower, James couldn't help but look at her. But today, because he hadn't started the morning with rendition of a dirty dream in which a red-headed witch starred, because he hadn't eaten anything either, because his best friend looked so sad and James clearly couldn't figure out how to fix it, Lily smiled at him.

James, clearly expecting her normal glare, froze and blinked in surprise. Lily's smile widened, and she pointed her chin at Sirius, a question in her eyes. James, obviously perturbed, hesitated before pulling his features into an exaggerated frown, and looked directly across the Great Hall to the place at the Slytherin table where Regulus Black was also not eating breakfast.

Lily sighed, and compressed her lips, apologizing without words to James for the tension between the Black brothers. James shrugged his shoulders wildly, and smiled hugely at her again, as if he couldn't believe that Lily was not shouting at him or scolding him or ignoring him.

Leaning back in her chair, Lily considered the messy-haired boy sitting across the table. His face was so open and friendly and confident, and was just screaming for an acerbic remark or sarcastic comment, but at that moment, Lily couldn't bring herself to remind James Potter that she was the only girl in school who didn't think his supreme confidence was wildly sexy. He was worried about his friend, so Lily decided that she was worried too, and what's more, that she and James Potter could, silently and just for today's breakfast, _collude. _

Biting her lip, she leaned back towards him, and he almost put his tie in the waffles, so quickly did he bend toward her. She giggled, and mouthed "_ask me out." _

He stared at her, and she surreptitiously pointed at Sirius, and raised her eyebrows enticingly. "_C'mon, James," _she breathed, and his jaw dropped. He looked as if he might be incapable of speech for quite some time.

"Hmph," Lily exhaled, rolling her eyes. Clearly, she would have to do this all on her own. She stood up, and snatched up the huge bowl of cinnamon and raisin porridge that no one ever ate but was nevertheless prepared by the house-elves every morning. Cradling the bowl against her chest, she drew a deep breath.

"James Charles Potter!" she shrieked, and the noise of the Great Hall absolutely _stopped. _"If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, I'd rather date the Giant Squid than date you!"

She paused, and looked expectantly down at James. Clearly slightly confused, but always game for a disturbance, he leapt to his feet, facing her across the table.

"You know what, Evans?" he queried, even louder than normal, "I think you should go down to the lake and meet your new squid boyfriend...I'll throw you in myself!"

Lily choked her laughter back, and squared her shoulders. "Oh, really Potter?" She hefted the porridge bowl. "Well, I think you're the one who will be _all wet._"

With that, she tossed the contents of the bowl at James, hitting him square in the face. Porridge splashed onto his robes and hair, and raisins caught in his collar and trickled down into his pockets. Lily froze, completely horrified by herself, but James was already roaring with laughter.

"'C'mere, Evans," he shouted, and suddenly tossed two goblets of orange juice into Lily's face. It hit her like a freezing slap, and she screamed in furious-laughter, already ducking to cram handfuls of waffles into James' hair. As she leaned toward him, he caught her and shoved her whole face into the bowl of fruit salad and Lily flailed, knocking glasses and plates and platters off the table and on to the other Gryffindors.

Sirius, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face, was the next person to toss a goblet of orange juice, and with that, the Great Hall erupted into a frenzied food fight, with students from all houses flinging platters and bowls and handfuls of food into the faces of their friends and foes alike. For a few minutes, the students of Hogwarts completely forgot that they had magic, and had a gloriously Muggle food fight.

Sirius Black, running down the length of the table, led the Gryffindor charge across the Hall to engage the Slytherins, and flung himself from the end of the table onto his brother's back. Regulus bellowed, but he was laughing too, and the Black brothers wrestled furiously in a puddle of oatmeal.

Lily chanced a look up at the Staff Table, where the air shimmered slightly, and no food or drink seemed able to splash the Professors. McGonagall held her wand aloft, and Lily realized she had cast a extra-large Bubble Head Charm around the entirety of the Staff Table, as protection. Most of the Professors continued eating calmly, but Dumbledore watched the progress of the food fight eagerly, clearly enjoying the riotous mess Lily and James had made of his school.

After a few minutes, the fight drained out of people, as they ran out of food to throw and realized how sticky and sodden their robes actually were. Slowly, sheepishly, students began to creep out of the Great Hall, hoping to race back to their dorms for fresh robes and maybe a quick shower.

Sirius had disappeared, Alice and Ellie had been among the first to sprint back up to the Gryffindor Tower, and Remus was helping Peter clean sesame seeds out of his ears, but James was there, grinning hugely, completely covered in marmalade and just utterly thrilled about it.

He lifted his eyebrows at her, and jerked his shoulder back at the doors, asking if she wanted to run up to the Tower the the few remaining minutes they had before they had to be in their first class.

Lily shrugged at him, and scooped up her bag. "Let's just go to Herbology. It's pretty obvious we started this fight." She gestured at her filthy robes. "I'm sure McGonagall will have use cleaning up all this mess, without magic. Why bother putting on clean clothes?"

James nodded, clearly pleased both by her logic, and by the fact that she was talking to him so politely, and as they set off towards the greenhouses, he easily lifted her bag out of her hand, and slung it over his own shoulder. Lily thought about protesting, about declaring as loudly as she could that she was perfectly capable of toting her own shit, thank you very much, James Potter, but decided that James didn't take her bag out of some showy sense of chivalry. He was just carrying it because there were a lot of books and she was clearly grossed out by how sticky the strap was, and it was almost a 10 minute trudge to the greenhouses.

She could feel his eyes on her as they walked, and she hoped (foolishly, and girlishly, and pathetically) that her makeup hadn't been completely destroyed by the orange juice he'd thrown in her face, and that her skin didn't now match her fiery hair.

"So, um, Evans, I was wondering-" Lily flinched, and her shoulders tensed. _Don't ask me out, Potter. Don't do it don't do it don't do it. Don't wreck one of the most amazing mornings I've had at Hogwarts. Don't make me tell you no, right now, when I like you more than I ever have. _

But James, maybe because he paid the most attention around Lily, and was his least oblivious self in her presence, caught her flinch and shut his mouth.

Lily peeled one eye open, and he smiled tentatively at her.

"Well, Evans," he continued, in a completely different voice. "I, um, was just wondering...what in the name of Merlin made a Prefect fling a tub of porridge in my face? And also, by the way, how dare you. My skin is very sensitive, and cinnamon just makes it react dreadfully." James patted at his face solicitously, and Lily burst into laughter.

She pushed at his shoulder, and he caught her hand and pulled it close to his chest. Lily froze, but James merely shrugged her bag down his arm and transferred it to her own shoulder, never letting go of her hand. He stepped even closer to her, and Lily hated that she had to lean her head so far back to look into his eyes, that she was so small and he was so tall and his eyes were so far above her own.

James sighed and smiled sadly, lifting only one corner of his mouth. "Lily, I just want to...you didn't have to..._thank you_ for noticing how sad Sirius was, and how mad and upset I was, and, well, for knowing exactly what to do about it."

He brought her hand, which he had held against his chest for the whole of this perfectly amazing speech, up to his lips, and gently kissed her palm. Lily could feel a flush of embarrassment (and maybe happiness and a little arousal and quite a lot of excitement) rush up her collar and blaze across her face, and she wanted to rip her hand out of James Potter's grasp, but he held it so gently and looked at her with such grown-up emotions that when he finally let go, she let her hand rest against his face for a few seconds, and then finally, slowly pulled back.

He just looked so fucking happy with her, and sweet, and glad and all sorts of words that were the opposite of dark and gloomy and melancholy, which were exactly the words that one might use to describe the other boy that quite clearly (and quite hopelessly) loved Lily Evans. It was hard to resist James, and Lily hated herself for being so easily swayed by a fucking smile from a good-looking boy, and for even being in this situation, which would be _such_ a betrayal to and of her best friend.

Suddenly, James flinched, and clapped his hand to his pocket. "Oh, fuck me, not now Padfoot," he whispered, as he pulled something small and shiny from his pocket. He looked at it for a second, and then his expression changed from hyperbolic outrage at the interruption to resignation and a little bit of fear. He shoved the small shiny thing back into his pocket, and gently put his hands on Lily's shoulders, not even realizing or remembering that in any other circumstance, she would have instantly yanked herself free. (But not now. Because, when her biggest frustration regarding James Potter was his utter immaturity, it was hard to be mad at this new, grown-up James.)

He pushed his face close to hers, and almost hugged her. "Listen, Evans, Sirius...well, he's a mess and I've got to go find him." James shrugged, and picked a bit of dried bacon off of Lily's robes. "I'd be my entire Gringotts account that Sirius will be in detention with us tonight if I don't go find him, so..." he pointed his chin at the greenhouses, "I'll just be skiving off Herbology today. Cover for me with Sprout? She's new, she probably won't care..."

Lily nodded, and put her hand on his chest, to push him away, toward the castle and Sirius, but also a little bit for good luck, and a little bit of an acknowledgment of the past few minutes, and what had happened between them. James smiled at her again, spun on his heel, and started running back up the hill toward the castle.

She watched his back until he disappeared inside the doors of the Entrance Hall, and then, just as James slipped inside, realized that she had been just staring at James Potter, for like 3 minutes. Watching him run, for God's sake. He had kissed her hand.

Lily lifted her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. "Oh, God damn it."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Common Garden Rat_

They had less than ten minutes to make it from the Gryffindor Tower out to the greenhouses for Herbology, and Peter Pettigrew was not moving his short legs (which he hated, because he always had to half-run to keep up with his 3 long-legged best friends even when they were walking) nearly as fast as he should have been. Remus Lupin was almost 15 paces ahead of Peter, and was twitching with anxiety as he looked back at his friend and at the many corridors in front of them that still separated them from their far-away goal.

Peter smiled as he watched Moony's back, and finally, more (he told himself) to put Remus out of his _can't-be-late-for-class_ misery than for any other reason, dramatically clapped his hand to his forehead and shouted at Remus. "Oh, bugger it, Moony, I've forgotten my quill." Remus paused, his whole body still oriented toward the staircase that would take them to the Entrance Hall, clearly wracking his brain for a solution. Peter knew that Remus would of course loan him a quill, but Remus only had two and Peter often snapped the nib or lost quills entirely, and thus Moony didn't really like to lend him anything. And one certainly couldn't count on James or Sirius to have spare quills-it sometimes amazed Peter that two of the wealthiest boys in his entire Year were so often deliberately lacking in so many essential things.

* * *

><p>But actually, Peter's forgotten quill wasn't nearly as thorny a problem as Remus imagined, because Peter actually had half a dozen quills secreted in his bag, which was slung securely over his shoulder. Peter had lied to his best friend, because Peter <em>had<em> to miss the first part of Herbology today, and it was always easiest to do this when it was Remus than when it was Sirius or James.

Because if Peter had shouted that he'd forgotten his quill, with 4 minutes left before class began, James would have whirled around and dashed back to the tower with him, because James was his best friend, and didn't mind skiving off class. Sirius would have dashed back too, but Sirius would have done it because Sirius loved skiving off class, and also because he was Peter's best friend. There's a difference in priorities there, and a difference in how both boys think about Peter, and it's infuriating, but it's probably impossible to change, and anyway, how exactly would he go about addressing it?

That's why today, Peter is glad that it's Remus. Remus is going to offer to sprint back to the Gryffindor Tower, but Peter waves his toward the staircase. "Moony, go without me, I'll go back. Distract Sprout until I get there?"

Peter turns back toward the Tower, and hears Remus' barking laughter echo behind him as Remus starts running. Peter waits until he hears the echoes of Remus' footsteps die away, then changes course, back to the staircase that leads down to the Entrance Hall, and down to the entrance to the dungeons, and the Slytherin dormitory.

This morning, just after he and Remus and Sirius had sprinted up the length of the Great Hall to fling an entire platter of scrambled eggs and spinach at the Slytherin table, Peter had felt a strong hand close over his bicep. The other hand rubbed muffins in Peter's hair, grinding the crumbs in with his nails until Peter flinched and tried to pull away. The boy holding him whispered, "Potions classroom. Ten past nine. Don't be late." Peter saw a flash of green and silver trimmed robes, and heard the aristocratic sneer that meant one of the Lestrange brothers was his captor. The tight grip and the muffins in his hair meant it was Rodolphus. And the message meant they wanted to see him again.

* * *

><p>Two months previously, literally the afternoon of the first day of the new school year, James and Sirius put Artemius Warrington in the Hospital Wing with a mysterious hex that made thick, frothy pink foam pour out of his nostrils. None of Warrington's Slytherin friends could figure out how to fix him, and nearly the whole school had laughed themselves stupid watching the Lestrange brothers carry Warrington up to the Hospital Wing, the three of them slipping and sliding and falling on the foam that continued to spew from Warrington's face.<p>

A few hours after Warrington's accident, Peter had been on his way back from Muggle Studies, the first class he'd ever taken at Hogwarts without the rest of the Marauders, when he'd been cornered. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Walden MacNair had suddenly appeared as Peter rounded a corner, and Peter froze, the blood in his veins turning to absolute ice, the skin on the back of his neck actually prickling with fear and painful anticipation. Peter had never before been caught by a Slytherin without at least one of his friends, and this was absolutely on purpose. Remus and Sirius and James were far better duelers than he, and were always the primary targets, because nobody ever imagined that Peter was all that much of a threat. (He didn't mind admitting to himself that his enemies were perfectly correct in their assumptions about his prowess and his willingness to fight: he didn't mind shooting jinxes at Slytherin backs as they dueled the other Mauraders, but he abhorred pain, and would not start a fight.)

But that afternoon, he was by himself, and he was pants-shittingly terrified. They didn't even bother to disarm him (_they didn't even bother to disarm you_, the place where he kept his courage shrieked) but they didn't need to. He wasn't going to fight them. They four boys dragged him into a rarely used corridor, and MacNair guarded the opening of the corridor while the Lestranges and Malfoy readied themselves to torture him.

Rodolphus held Peter's arms behind his back, after first ripping Peter's wand out of his hand, and Rabastan and Malfoy spent a minute discussing which bits of Peter they were going to hurt first. It was only Rodolphus' clenching arms that kept Peter on his feet, and he was so disgustingly grateful for the fact that he was wearing a robe, so the Slytherins wouldn't know that he'd pissed himself.

Finally, Malfoy turned to Peter, and gently pressed the tip of his wand against the tiny jowl under Peter's chin. In that instant, Peter felt as if his whole life was focused on the tip of the wand, on the feeling of Rodolphus' arms squeezing his own, on the sneer etched across Rabastan's eager face. He was so terribly afraid.

"Pettigrew." Even Malfoy's voice sounded cruel, and he wrenched his wand deeper into Peter's throat with every word he spoke. Obviously with perfect enunciation. "My dear friend Artemius has, at this moment, a rather disgusting substance dripping out of his face. Pomfrey can't stop it. In fact..." Malfoy dug the point of his wand into Peter's windpipe, and Peter started shaking so hard the wand was almost dislodged. "In fact, she can't even figure out the hex that caused it. So, we thought..." he gestured grandly to his friends, "we thought we would just toss a handful of jinxes at you, until we got something that was close enough. Maybe we'll figure out a way to fix Artemius." Peter, pressed up against Rodolphus' chest, felt the taller boy laugh; Peter couldn't close his mouth around the wail that started in his belly and clambered up and out of his throat.

Malfoy, clearly taken aback by the melodrama of Peter's unrelenting fear, paused. He raised his wand, and Peter shut his eyes.

Peter knew, that if he were James Potter, James would have dropped into a dueling stance the moment he saw the Slytherins; he would have made sure his back was up against a wall, so no one could get around behind him, and he would have readied himself for battle, grimly aware that he might lose, but gladly aware that he would absolutely be remembered.

If Peter was Remus Lupin, and he were confronted by this gang of bullies, he would blink once or twice, draw himself up in his careful, dignified way, and then would suddenly start firing hexes and curses at everything he could see. Peter knew, because they had had this conversation before, that if he asked Remus why he had shot first, even though Remus wasn't the antagonist in the situation and he actually hated violence, Remus would just smile at him. Wolfishly.

And, Peter knew, if he were Sirius Black, he would explode into action, laughing maniacally, absolutely uncaring if his back were against a wall, or if the sun was in his eyes or his hair was in his face. Sirius was so reckless with his own safety when he fought that sometimes he could win the duel, but still come out the most beaten.

(But sometimes, Sirius wouldn't raise his wand and he wouldn't throw out any spells; he would just stand there and take whatever was thrown at him, as if he welcomed the pain. As if he thought he deserved it.)

But Peter Pettigrew was none of those people, as much as he secretly wished that he was (might be) so when Malfoy didn't immediately hit him with the Cruciatus, Peter risked opening one eye.

Malfoy stood in front of him still, imperious and calm, but with a question written in the thin-features of his inherited face.

Peter, sensing a reprieve, and maybe a way out of the situation, gasped for air, and started talking.

"The foam, um, it's a really simple spell, that Moony, I mean Remus, invented it, to wake Sirius up, when he has nightmares because nothing-" Malfoy raised a hand, and Peter shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together.

"My little cousin has nightmares?" There was glee in Malfoy's voice, and his grey eyes sparkled with malice.

Peter hesitated for just an instant, weighing how furious Sirius would be if he ever found out about this against how very deeply Peter did not want to be tortured by these angry Slytherin boys. Fear won.

"Yes, he does. Bad ones."

Malfoy's smirk widened, and the dim light from the flickering sconces on the walls of the corridor shadowed his eyes. He reached out and plucked Peter from Rodolphus' arms. He leaned close to Peter, and smiled at him. "Tell me all about them, Pettigrew."

* * *

><p>Peter had sung like a fucking canary, or maybe like the rat he could transform into at will, and the next month, when Rabastan Lestrange asked him for the plays the Gryffindor Quidditch team was planning to use in the first match against Slytherin, Peter took great pleasure in reciting a whole list of fake plays and Chaser combinations and the Seeker's theories about the flight patterns of the Snitch. He was proud of himself for his deceptive prowess, and he fancied himself quite the spy. He desperately wanted to tell the other Marauders about what he had done, and how he had helped them to beat Slytherin, but telling them about this would raise questions about why these Slytherin 7th Years thought Peter would give away House secrets in the first place, and that was something that Peter did not want to address, ever. <em>Telling them about Sirius' nightmares, well, that wasn't nice but it also wasn't that big of a deal<em>, Peter told himself, as he hurried down the steps to the Potions classroom to meet the Slytherin 7th Years who had commanded his presence. _Giving away Quidditch secrets would have been much worse, and I didn't do that!_

_But you did betray your best friend, just because you were afraid_, his better self reminded him. _Sirius would never do that, no matter what the Slytherins did to him._

_He might not do that, out of fear, but he might do it because it was a joke, or he thought it would impress a girl, or because James asked him to._ This thought came from a new part of himself, which had cringed into life the day Lucius Malfoy had held a wand to his throat. This was his anti-conscience, maybe. _Sirius has done loads of mean things to you, and you've never done_ anything _back. And anyway, nothing happened, because of what you said. You just answered Malfoy's questions. It would have been a much bigger betrayal if you'd told them the Quidditch stuff._

* * *

><p>Peter was late to his coerced appointment with the Slytherin boys, and they had spent the extra time arranging themselves just inside the entrance to the classroom, crouching in the shadows, with teeth bared and wands out, waiting for him.<p>

It made his knees and fingers feel fragile and loose to see them standing just inside the doorway, but he was less scared this time; he had learned that as long as he brought them some good information, as long as he pretended to help them (_because that's all he was doing, he was pretending, he wasn't actually helping them, because he was a Gryffindor and they were Slytherins and he wouldn't do that to his friends_), they wouldn't hurt him. And that was what mattered.

They wanted to know what had happened last night, between Sirius and Regulus, and why the Black brothers looked so mutinously angry and so heartsick at the same time, and what Sirius thought about his brother.

Peter knew the answer to all of those questions, and the five boys (Warrington had joined this little cabal) all looked eager and interested in him. At this moment, they wanted nothing more that to hear everything he had to say. None of them had threatened him, or hurt him, or even really frightened him, but they would do all of those things, if he didn't answer them. He knew that they would. And they looked so polite, and calm, and so damn_ i__nterested_ in him, and not really so bad after all.

Peter took a deep breath. "Well, yesterday, Sirius and James got detention with Slughorn..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Let me now what you think! **


	5. Chapter 5

_Rancor Revealed _

"Padfoot, mate, where the bloody hell are you?" James spoke as loudly as he dared, worried that if he raised his voice any more, the vast flock of owls currently drowsing in the Owlery would start awake, and attack the disturbance, namely, him.

Specks of dust and feathers sat heavily in the warm air of the Owlery, and James waved his hands in front of his face to clear them away, peering into the gloomy corners for Sirius.

There was a soft rustling noise above his head, and James looked up slowly, praying that his extraordinarily febrile imagination (if he did say so himself) had played a trick on him. But, no. There was Sirius, perched on the sill of the lowest set of windows, his back towards James and his legs hanging over the edge of the window, dangling loosely in the breeze that swirled around the eaves of the 2nd tallest tower at Hogwarts.

"Oh, fuck me, Padfoot," James breathed, and pulled his bag and robe over his shoulders with a quick jerk. He strode across the floor littered with owl pellets, which crunched loudly under his hurrying feet. Easily, he swung himself up on to the wall, using the owl perches and rough-hewn blocks of stone to climb.

_For the love of Merlin, Sirius, you stupid fuck, why is it always this? _James lifted himself to a higher perch, and squinted against the dust that his climbing stirred up. James loved flying, and wasn't at all afraid of heights, but he did absolutely have a healthy respect for what happened if you fell down from them, and as much as he loved his best friend he hated that Sirius needed to be talked down from the ledge of the tower, like some goddamn damsel in distress. _But, _James mused, _the difference between Sirius and a damsel in distress is that if nobody comes to rescue her, she'll just stay up there. If nobody comes to rescue Sirius, he'd jump. _

Which is why James had, as soon as he'd figured out where Sirius was, immediately started climbing. James absolutely did not want to be crunched on to a thin window-sill with Sirius, tugged on by the breeze and buffeted by the departing owls, but if he stood below Sirius and begged for him to come down, Sirius would stay up there until he froze, or fell. But, if James climbed up with him, and started suggesting ways to 'improve' the facade of the castle, or pointing out targets walking across the grounds for their long-range jinx practice, or Summoned their brooms for an afternoon of chasing each other through the Forbidden Forest, then Sirius would cast off his Black mood and become James' best friend again, and James could stop pleading (with every fiber of his being that wasn't focused on making Sirius laugh)_don'tjumpdon'tjumppleasedon'tjump. _

James pulled himself onto the ledge, carelessly shoving Sirius' hip aside so he could fit his own arse in a relatively comfortable spot, letting Sirius know that James trusted him not to fall on accident or out of clumsiness. (Letting Sirius know that if he fell, it would have to be because of Sirius' choice, and nothing else.)

"Damn it, Padfoot, why'd you pick the Owlery? It smells like, no surprise, owl shit, and I know these damn birds look at my beautiful eyes and imaging pecking them right out."

Sirius didn't lift his head; instead, he stared at the dark smudges his polished shoes made against the blue sky, perhaps imagining the dark smudge his whole body would make if he let go.

_Oh, holy shit, Sirius, please don't jump, I'll kill you if you jump..._ "So, Padfoot, I know how much you _love _hearing about my obsession with Evans, but I think we've made some real progress today!" James paused, leaving a wide open space for Sirius to toss in a joke about all the other times James had believed he'd made progress with Lily only to end up hexed or shouted at or slapped. But, still, Sirius said nothing.

"Well, anyway, since you're being _such _a good listener right now, I believe I'll tell you in minute detail about our interaction this morning. _Ahem. _It started when she smiled at me, which is completely out of character, yes? And then-"

"Prongs." James clapped his teeth shut over his next word, and chanced a glance at Sirius.

Sirius kept his head down, so his shaggy hair swung across his face and obscured his eyes, but James didn't need to see Sirius' face to know what he was feeling. That's why he was up on the edge of a bloody window hundreds of feet up in the air, because his best friend didn't know how to ask for help but needed it desperately, so James never bothered to wait for Sirius to ask but simply gave unstintingly.

"Prongs, I picked the Owlery because nobody's ever up here. The Astronomy tower might have classes, or Sinistra, or, I don't know, Moony snogging Flitwick, maybe." Sirius ran out of words, so James picked up the sentence for him.

"Padfoot, mate, if you've come up here to declare your undying love for me..." James, paused, and clasped his hands against his chest. "I accept! Let's get married. I'm sure your mother would just love to help with the wedding planning."

Sirius didn't smile, but James could see the desire to laugh in the curve of Sirius' shoulders, and he grinned to himself, privately proud that he'd cracked the dark veneer of Sirius.

"I'll be getting a Howler any second, Prongs," Sirius told him, and James felt the grin slide off his face and float right out the window. "And, I just didn't want another, scene, like last time. Remember, after Warrington?"

James flinched, and Sirius nodded, going for nonchalance but landing on poorly-concealed anxiety instead. Two months previously, the first day of school, James and Sirius had hexed Warrington so badly he was in the hospital wing for the first week of classes, and the next morning, Sirius' mother had sent him a Howler at breakfast.

The Howler had shrieked at him for several long minutes, screaming about bringing dishonor to the family name and all of his mother's normal absurd shit, while Sirius calmly ate bacon and read a stolen half of Lily Evans' _Daily Prophet. _But, suddenly, as if his mother could no longer control herself, the Howler spluttered with rage, and zoomed forward, the pages hardening and coalescing into the rough shape of a hand.

The Howler slapped Sirius across the face, and the crackle of pages against his skin reverberated throughout the Great Hall, clanging off the dying echoes of his mother's screams. Sirius flinched away from the Howler, and lifted his hand to touch the blot of blood at the corner of his lips.

The Howler slapped his hand away from his face, and hit him again, this time on the other cheek. James, horrified to the very core of himself at the humiliation and fear blazing in Sirius' eyes, had stood up to snatch the smoking letter out of the air.

But Sirius had shaken his head, even as the Howler crashed into his temple, and so James dropped back into his seat, waiting, with the rest of the school, until the Howler dashed itself to papery shreds against Sirius' face, and finally fell into his breakfast.

"So, yeah, Prongs. I just didn't feel like having anyone see that today."

James nodded. "You'd think, Padfoot, that a boy who has run through the Great Hall wearing nothing but a Gryffindor flag and also ends up starkers at almost every Tower party wouldn't be _so _cripplingly constrained by shame like this. Tell me, Sirius Black," James pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose and stared at Sirius, "do you have some kind of problem with your mother?"

Sirius smiled, and it almost looked happy, rather than grim and deadly serious. "Well, Prongs, it's just a mite embarrassing to have everyone know she still slaps me like a child, you know?"

James, who'd never in his life been slapped or struck by either of his parents, is never sure how to answer when Sirius says things like this. Because you should NEVER slap a child. This simile doesn't make sense, but obviously Sirius thinks it does, which makes James' skin crawl, imagining what it must have been like for his wild-child best friend to grow up at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"C'mon mate, it's not that bad. The whole school saw you take a beating like a man. Girls swooned over your bruises. I mean, it was only your mother, and it was only a piece of paper, but, you know, it was still _very _manly."

Sirius shoves him, but catches the front of James' sweater as he pushes him, so James lets himself fall a little more forward than he would necessarily like, so Sirius can pull him back.

Sirius keeps his hand curled in the woolen folds of James' sweater, and James pretends he doesn't notice, pretends that it's not weird or out of character for Sirius to be clutching at him like this. Most of the time, with Sirius, it's all about preventing him from falling down inside his own head, and getting trapped by the rage and hurt that constantly boils around inside of him. Typically, this requires James to make jokes and create distractions and disturbances and sometimes provide a Slytherin or two who needs to be taught a lesson. Rarely, though, Sirius needs to be allowed to wallow around in his own sadness, and right now is probably a good time for that because nobody else is around and Sirius looks like the only person he wants to hurt right now is himself.

"Do you think it'll be as, bad, as last time, mate?" James asks.

Sirius' fingers spasm against James' chest, still tangled in the folds of James' sweater. His voice is hoarse and afraid, and it makes James shiver, to see his best friend like this terrified wreck of himself. "I think, I think that it could be worse, James."

James shrugs eloquently, and Sirius sneers at the blue sky and the scudding white clouds.

"I dunno, Prongs. The Howler might Transform into a boggart, which would obviously be _her, _or it might have the Cruciatus packed up inside..." Sirius swallows convulsively and leans away from James, as if he can't bear James to hear what he's going to say. When he speaks, there is a decade's worth of bitterness in his voice. "Or, or, it might be my father, with his...fucking walking stick, telling me that, I don't deserve to be punished with magic and if I want to be a Mudblood-lover so much he'll damn well punish me like a Mudblood."

Hot, fierce anger pours through James' veins, and he wants to leap down from the tower and sprint to Sirius' front door and just murder the ever-living shit out of the two people who call themselves Sirius' parents.

James knew, had _known, _on some level, everything Sirius had just said: he's seen the scars that zigzag across his friend's body and there's only so many times you can believe Sirius when he tells you he got hurt fighting off dragons. He'd had a front-row seat for the Warrington Howler, and for many of the other furious Howlers Sirius had received over the years, and he'd seen Sirius' parents pick him and Regulus up from the King's Cross...of course he knew.

(Except, everything with Sirius was such a fucking joke-the boy had no qualms about exaggerating or completely obliterating the truth of a story if he thought it was funnier or more interesting in this new way, and also Sirius lied constantly. He just made things up sometimes, to the Gryffindor girls, or to Remus and Peter, or to the girl he was currently snogging, or to their Professors, as if he wanted to see how much they were willing to believe in him. So, James had _known_, obviously, but Sirius had never really said anything quite so revealing before, and also, as much as he knows that Sirius is telling the truth, it's excruciatingly difficult to believe that parents could just treat their child like this, as if violence and humiliation and pain are legitimate means to teach a child proper behavior and decorum.)

James Potter, possibly the most silver-tongued boy in the whole of Hogwarts, at least (yet not unfairly) in his own mind, is completely lost for words. He has lots of things he wants to say, like: _Sirius, mate, just ditch the lot of them and come and live with me, _and, _Maybe we should send your mother a Howler of her own, let her know how it feels to be degraded in front of everyone she knows, _and mostly _I'm so sorry, best friend and brother, for being too much of a fucking coward to ask you about this sooner, for not trying to help you get away from the place you hate so much. _

He has far too much to say, so he says nothing. Instead, he reaches up and curls his own hand in the front of Sirius' sweater, holding his friend in place, letting Sirius know that James has heard him, and is still here, and that Sirius has nothing to be ashamed of.

Sirius still has his eyes squinted shut under his long fringe, so James sees it first. The obsidian owl clutching the bright-red, faintly smoking Howler in its talons is slowly increasing in size, climbing north across the lake toward the Owlery, and Sirius.

James gulped, and tugged Sirius' sweater. "Padfoot, uh, it's coming." Sirius straightened, and brushed back his hair, but didn't open his eyes.

"Ok, Prongs. I'll see you in a bit." Slowly, Sirius uncurled his fingers from James' sweater. James didn't move. Sirius looked from the owl, close enough now that both boys could see how the Howler was vibrating furiously in the owl's talons. His voice got just one note higher, but for Sirius, that was a lot. "Alright, thanks loads, Prongs, for cheering me up, but you don't need to see this." Sirius gestured back inside the tower, clearly indicating that he wanted James to jump down and disappear. That Sirius was a big boy, nearly an adult, and could handle this himself.

James lifted his head and smiled hugely at Sirius, and shook his head slowly. "Padfoot," he snickered, forcing a laugh into his voice, even as he sat planted in the least-funny situation of his whole life. "When you piss yourself from fear, someone's got to clean you up, you know. Filch'd never let you forget it, and I don't want to know just how _many_ girls'd volunteer, so," James clapped the back of Sirius' neck in mock-paternalism. "I guess it'll be my job."

Sirius spun towards James, his face a mask of outrage, but relief and gratitude written in the lines of his shoulders. Sirius had so much to say to James, but this has already been such a weird and fucked up morning, and it's only going to get weirder and more fucked up the second the Howler gets in range, so Sirius simply grins at his best friend, and asks, "So, Prongs, just how many girls do you think would volunteer?"

Both boys burst into laughter, but it's slightly forced and tinged with bitterness and rage. It echoes faintly in the eaves of the Owlery tower. James keeps his hand on the back of Sirius's neck, and Sirius lets him.

The owl carrying the Howler lets go of it, and the Howler crosses the last few feet separating it from Sirius on its own, eager to deliver the burning fury of the messages inside of it.

James takes a deep breath, and steels himself to hold on to the castle for himself, and for Sirius.

The Howler bursts into flames.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Mrs. Evans Told Both Daughters: 'If A Man is Cruel and Mean as a Boy, He'll Only be Worse as He Grows Up.' Neither Daughter Listened. _

For the first time in his entire life, James Charles Potter arrived early to a detention. He'd never been _egregiously _late for a detention before; he'd certainly arrived just on time to most of his detentions, or rather, just before the detention-giving professor's mouth hardened into an intractable line, only opening to assign another detention for his tardiness.

So, arriving early (10 whole minutes early, at that!) was unprecedented for James Potter. But, except for the few occasions when Slughorn had put the entire class in detention because nobody would give up the names of the miscreants who had done something horrible to Snivellus, James Potter had never served detention with Lily Evans. Perhaps the better way to say it is this: Before tonight, James had never served detention with a Lily who had smiled at him that morning, a Lily who hadn't slapped him when he kissed her hand, a Lily who actually had _caused_ the detention in the first place.

He got to the Great Hall early, and gladly took the bucket of soapy water and rags that Filch sneeringly handed him, and began to scrub the long wooden House tables that stretched the whole length of the Hall. He checked his watch every few seconds, counting the minutes until Lily would arrive.

Of course, she got there exactly at 8:00, just as the bells in the clock-tower high above their heads boomed out the hour. He could hear Lily laugh as she entered the Great Hall, and saw him standing casually on the table-top in his socks, skating back and forth across the gleaming table with dry, fluffy rags under his feet.

"Oh, Lily!" he called over his shoulder, as if he was surprised to see her, as if he hadn't been eagerly waiting for this moment all afternoon. "I'm so happy you've decided to come to my skating party!" He spun on the table, going for controlled elegance and overbalancing horribly. Both feet completely left the table top, and he fell backwards, already imagining just how loud the _thunk _of his arse hitting the polished wood of the table would sound in the silent Great Hall.

It fucking _echoed. _Thankfully, the echo was almost immediately drowned out by the scream of Lily Evans' laughter as she collapsed to the floor, dropping her rags and bucket, and pounded her heels and hands against the stone, vibrating with laughter.

James stayed where he was, sprawled on his back on the table top, listening to Lily laugh at him, almost gladdened by the vehemence of her reaction. _At least, _he told himself, _it means she's paying attention to me. Of course, it'd be nice if she'd run over here and was all sweet and worried, but that just wouldn't be Lily, now would it, to be concerned about the state of my arse. _

Groaning loudly in pretend-pain, James pushed himself up, and settled on his elbows, content, for the moment, to watch Lily writhe with laughter on the stone floor. She rarely let herself go like this, rarely let herself show this much enjoyment of _anything, _and it was beautiful to see the way her fiery hair fluttered as her shoulders shook, and the way a flush of exertion crept up her pale throat. Even when she laughed at him, he loved her, and _maybe it's a good thing, _he mused, _that she can laugh this much at me. Maybe it means she feels comfortable enough to let herself go, with me. She doesn't need to be reserved and uptight all the time, with me. _

Finally, Lily, gasping for breath, hands clutching her stomach, got ahold of herself, and slowly sat up. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders, and rubbed at the the tear-streaked makeup under her eyes with her thumbs. She smiled broadly at James, and he felt his heart thrumming frantically in his chest, like he was about to play an important Quidditch match, or single-handedly face down a pack of Slytherin 7th-Years.

"James, have you _ever _actually been skating? I mean, I'm very impressed by your repertoire of tricks...what do you call that one? The Potter Tumble? The Icy Arse?"

James shook his head, and heaved himself up from the table. "Actually, Evans, The _Soapy _Arse might be a better name, for that particular trick." He turned around, and showed her the water and soap suds stain that squelched wetly the whole length of his back-side. He heard her muffle her laughter with her hands, and smiled to himself.

"But seriously, it's not ever cold enough for the ponds to freeze, where I live." He reached forward and extended his hand to her. Easily, without reservation or hesitation, as if they did this all the time, she took it, and let him pull her to her feet. "My mum will sometimes freeze the floor of the portrait gallery, at the top of our house, and I'll go skating on that." He gestured to the table behind them. "That's why I thought I'd be able to impress you. I've had loads of practice."

Lily was looking at him strangely, and James clenched his shoulders, quickly replaying their conversation, wondering what he might have said to offend her.

"You've a, portrait gallery, in your house? Like, in a museum?"

Oh. Well, yes, there was a portrait gallery, but James probably couldn't name or describe any of his ancestors who hung within it. He'd used it to play with his father when he was a little boy, and to practice sharp turns and dives on his broomstick when he got older. _Don't be a snob, Potter, _he reminded himself sharply. _She can be arrogant and she never gets down off her high horse, but she's never a snob. _

"Yeah, it's this big long room, with these slick wooden floors, perfect for skating, or flying, if it's raining outside." He grinned at her. "When I first got my wand, I spent the whole morning, um, _improving _all the paintings. I gave everybody mustaches and tried to switch out the stuff in each painting for all the stuff in the other ones." He shook his head. "All the portrait people roared loud enough that my mum came dashing upstairs, and, well, I wasn't allowed to fly on my brand-new broom for two whole weeks. It was absolute torture."

Lily's face is soft, and her green eyes are sparkling. She takes a step towards him, and James can smell the faint sweetness of her perfume, or her hair, maybe. It's hard to breathe, hard to think, the closer he is to her. She's looking at him as if she wishes she knew him when he was a child, maybe.

"It must have been so wonderful, James, to grow up with Magic." He can hear the capital 'M' when she says 'Magic,' and he realizes how incredible it must have been for her, to come as an 11-year-old, into the world that he was born into, and took for granted.

"But Muggles are so cool, Evans," James blurted. "There's the telly whenever you want it, and films and _cheeseburgers_, Evans, and pizza and Coke and Muggles absolutely have the best music, and girls don't walk around in-" He cuts himself off there, and grins at her instead.

Lily is shaking her head ruefully. "Of course, James, _of course _that's what you love about Muggles." She smiled. "It seems the bread and circuses idea is true even in the Wizarding world."

"Uh, what's a 'circuses,' Evans?"

"It means, of course the things you'd like best about Muggles are the food and the fun, Potter."

"Ok." James nodded, because, yes, that was true. The things he liked best about most things were the food and the fun. Ok. Now was probably a good time. "So, um, Lily? Speaking of food and fun, um, would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me, next weekend?"

Lily sighed, and stepped back, away from James. The happiness and brilliance of the past ten minutes dimmed a bit. The whole Hall seemed darker.

"James Potter, how many times have you asked me to Hogsmeade?" James scrubbed his hands through his hair, and flung his arms up in the air, in a gesture that meant 'a lot of fucking times, Evans.'

"And, how many times have I said yes?"

"No times."

"Do you ever wonder why, James?"

Fuck this. James reached for her, and grabbed her hands. He held them gently, the tension in his arms relaxing at his wrists to keep himself from hurting her hands. Because he would never hurt her. She could do what she liked to him, and he would never, ever, hurt her back. "Every fucking day, Evans."

Lily's lip curled up, but she didn't yank her hands out of his grasp. So that was good, at least. "Well, Potter, it's not some big, melodramatic reason. It's because you're an absolute arse to my best friend."

James' single bark of laughter echoed sharply in the Great Hall. "Snivellus? _Snivellus _is the reason you won't go out with me? For Merlin's sake, Evans, he's a bloody Death Eater! He's Slytherin scum, and he's friends with Slytherin scum. He and his little friends think Muggles shouldn't be allowed in Hogwarts! And _he's_ the bloody reason you won't go out with me?"

Now Lily did yank her hands out of James' grasp. "You think I don't know all of this, Potter? You think I'm not sad about it, every day? He's my best friend. He's been my best friend since we were children. And none of those things are good enough reasons to give up on him." Lily crossed her arms over her chest, and cocked her head. Clearly, she'd thought of some marvelous barb. "You'd never give up on Sirius."

This was hitting below the belt, mostly because it was true. _For fuck's sake, why is it anytime she does anything below-the-belt to me it's in an argument, and not something way more fun. _Not that James didn't enjoy arguing with Lily, because she never backed down and neither did he but they both _listened _to each other, and he at least, tried to modulate his behavior when he realized Lily was right about something she'd said to him.

"You're right, Evans, I wouldn't give up on Sirius. And, clearly I'm doing a better job with my best friend, because mine's not itching to join Voldemort when we graduate!"

Lily's face blanched, and the corners of her lips tightened. "Who taught you, to be cruel, James?"

_Oh, shit. Maybe that was too low. _He swallowed. "Lily, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, that was-"

"You're not wrong, James," she interrupted him, and sighed deeply. "But that's not what I'm asking. Was anybody ever cruel to you? Did anybody ever hurt you?"

He looked into her eyes, and saw tranquility and genuine curiosity, and maybe resignation. "No. Nobody. Not ever."

Lily nodded at him. "I know. You can see that, just looking at you. I remember you on the train, the very first day of school, because already you were happy and popular and so confident. I was so excited, to be going to Hogwarts with you, and I didn't even know you." She ran a hand through her hair, and stepped backwards, to better meet his eyes.

"And then, rather than using that confidence, to make everyone around you happy, you used it to hurt somebody who was smaller and weaker than you." James' skin felt cold and too tight, and his stomach felt nauseous and nervous. He'd known, obviously, that Lily hated that he tortured Snivellus, but she'd certainly never told him that her hatred stretched all the way back to the first day of First Year, and that he'd been struggling against that first impression ever since.

"You humiliated Sev, you hurt him and embarrassed him, just because you could. He was looking forward to Hogwarts just as much as you." She paused, and looked away from James, over his shoulder to the Slytherin House table. "Maybe, even more than you, and you made it a terrible day for him."

James opened his mouth, to defend himself, to remind her that Snape was a Slytherin and a friend to boys and girls who legitimately wanted to have people like her barred from Hogwarts, and worse, but Lily spoke before he could even get the first words out.

"James. We didn't have Houses then. Nobody had been Sorted, nobody had made friends yet. He was just a kid, a smaller kid in patched robes and a bad haircut, and you decided that he was an easy target. And then you were cruel to him, just, because you could be. I remember, you said you wanted to be in Gryffindor...how could he go anywhere but Slytherin?"

She reached up and tugged her on her hair, wrapping the thick mass of red curls around her wrist, and held it there, looking at James. Considering him. Finding him, he finally realized, lacking in some essential quality, some important characteristic that she wanted in the kind of boy she would let take her to Hogsmeade. She would never say yes to him, he realized, because he would always be the 11-year-old boy who had hurt her best friend, for no reason other than it seemed like a funny idea in that moment.

_That isn't fair, _he itched to tell her. _That isn't fair, to judge me by the stupid things I did as a little kid. But, he had done the same thing: He had seen the 11-year-old Snivellus, and decided that he wasn't worth much of anything, and had acted accordingly. And that wasn't fair, either. _

James felt his shoulders droop, and his head tip forward. Normally, he walked around with this sort of happy, weightless feeling puffing his chest out, but as he exhaled, that happiness whooshed out of his body, and James swallowed, truly, possibly for the first time in 15 years, cognizant that actions can have far-reaching consequences, and that maybe being a jerk for a minute when you're 11 can come back and kick you in the face at 15. He sighed.

"Oh, shit, James," Lily whispered. "I'm sorry, but, I just..."

"No, Evans," James tried to force some humor into his voice, but it fell flat and bleak. "You're completely right." He shook his head slowly. "Tell Snape I said this, and I'll deny it, but you're right. I shouldn't have done that. Not because of this," he gestured at her, his hands sketching the distance between them, "but because it was a terrible thing to do. It was unfair, and it wasn't funny, and I shouldn't've done it."

Lily gasped, just a little, her mouth dropping open, and James wanted to step forward and fold her in his arms, and kiss her until she gasped again, but, he didn't. See, look, he's finally learning _restraint_.

"Holy shit, James." She closed her eyes. "Ok, if _you _tell Sev this, I'll deny it, but sometimes, like right now, I _would _say yes to you. Sometimes, I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you."

Warmth, and relief and waves of joy flooded James, and the happy weightlessness zoomed back into his chest as he took a deep breath. _Maybe you do still have a chance, James, _he congratulated himself.

"But listen, James," Lily stepped forward, and took his hands in hers. He let himself marvel over the softness of her wrists for just a second, and forced himself to not pull her closer. "James, if I _do _say yes to you, think about what that says to Sev. That says, hey, Sev, you know the boy that has tortured you since your very first day of school, for no other reason than because he decided to, you know him? The boy you hate so much? Well, I know about all of that, but I'm going to go out with him, anyway." Lily squeezed James' hands, and then she let them go. "That would be giving up on Sev, James. That would be the end, for him. And, just like you would never give up on Sirius, I would never do that to Sev."

James nodded. He understood. Completely. He'd never really had a conversation like this with Lily, before. He'd never really understood that Snape for her was like Sirius to him, and both of them were trying to save their best friend from the darkness that called invitingly to each of them, the same blackness that waited eagerly for both of them.

"Ok, ok, Lily." He smiled at her sadly, and walked back over to the bucket of rags and soapy water, ready to finally start his detention, to try to clean up some of the mess he'd made that morning, even though the House Elves had already scrubbed the Great Hall clean, and anything James did would be both less effective and inherently irrelevant. But, he didn't really want to look at Lily any more, and manual labor was preferable to talking right now, so he picked up the rags he'd dropped earlier in the evening, and bent over the table.

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><p>James didn't say anything else to Lily until they both climbed through the Portrait Hole into the Tower two hours later, both flexing their sore hands and wrists, and wrinkling their noses against the astringent soap smell that still clung to their clothing.<p>

He stopped her, before she could go up the stairs to the Girls' Dormitory, where he could not follow.

"So, Lily, my skating-party date didn't work out, really at all, the way I wanted it to."

She laughed at him, but it was sweet and forgiving, and maybe a little bit sad. "You're getting better and better, James Potter." She leaned forward, and whispered, "It's getting harder and harder to say no, to you."

"You'll never give up on Snape, for me, and that's fine, that's wonderful. That's exactly what you should do." He pulled a piece of her red hair over her shoulder, and smoothed it down against her collarbone. "But, I'm really good at not giving up on people, even when it's hopeless, and really hard, and so, I'm not going to give up on you, either. Just so you know."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think! **

**PS, next chapter: The Black Brothers face each other, and 'sibling rivalry' turns painful and bleak...**


	7. Chapter 7

_Black Traditions_

Sirius Black didn't bother to slide James Potter's invisibility cloak from the crumpled heap of dirty socks and Quidditch robes scattered over the floor of their dormitory; didn't bother to slip the ever-growing, ever-more-complicated Marauder's Map from the top drawer of Remus Lupin's night stand. It was just after sunrise on a Sunday morning, and Sirius, who had been getting up this balls-early on Sundays since his 1st Year, had only ever encountered Filch and Mrs. Norris as he made his way through the school corridors and out to the Quidditch Pitch. Whenever he sees Filch, the caretaker stares at him balefully, but even though Sirius is the only student in the corridor, and seems to be breaking a whole host of rules, he technically isn't out of bounds, because the student curfew evaporates at sunrise.

That's why Sirius didn't bother to take the cloak or the map; firstly, because he wouldn't get in trouble if he ran into any authority figures and secondly, but not _secondarily_, he certainly wasn't afraid to face down any student [Slytherin] he might encounter, so he made the choice to not slink around the castle in the shadows, but to walk openly down the corridors, never looking nervously over his shoulders.

He knew, obviously that a lot of the confidence that makes him semi-notorious amongst his classmates was sheer recklessness, and a lot of it was deliberate ignorance of any consequences-because it's easy to be brave when you just don't think about what might happen to you-but some of it was fear forcibly channeled into a semblance of bravado, and consequently nobody really ever knew exactly how afraid Sirius Black sometimes was.

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><p>Because, sometimes he was. Afraid, that is. He was afraid of his parents. Unquestioningly and absolutely afraid of the mad passion of his mother and the studied cruelty of his father. He was afraid of his family, of the way they viewed Muggles and their place (or lack thereof) in the Wizarding World. Alone among his friends in Gryffindor, he knew and understood the still-underground but ever-growing political and social movement that endeavored to have Wizarding power centralized in a still-shadowy figure who called himself Lord Voldemort. He was afraid of how many of his family members might join this cause, and what they might do to him if he refused.<p>

He was afraid for Remus, sometimes. Not of the Wolf, because Padfoot neutralized that, but of the rage that Moony tried so assiduously to tamp down, the rage at being a lesser being, a creature, a _beast, _who would never get the same chances and opportunities offered to every single other of his class-mates. Sirius was afraid that Remus, because of something that he didn't ask for and couldn't control, would never be happy in the Wizarding world that so clearly broadcast its hatred for people like him.

Sirius was afraid that Peter might never find some girl to take pity on him, and would remain a sweaty, chocolate-coated _virgin _for the rest of his life.

And, Sirius was afraid of James, because he spent quite a lot of his day, from the first moment he rolled out of his four-poster, to the second before he collapsed into it, thinking of things to make James laugh, and pranks to interest him, and ways to demonstrate to James his un-ending gratitude for hiding him from his cousins on the train the first day of 1st Year, and challenging him to a game of Exploding Snap, and showing him that, contrary to the diatribes of his parents, Gryffindor was not actually a bad place to end up. That even though his name was Black his soul certainly wasn't, and that surnames don't have to dictate who you are, and what you do.

He was afraid of James because James was his brother, because James was the only person in the whole world who Sirius would listen to, if James asked him to stop. He was afraid because he was Sirius fucking Black, and when people told him to stop he only went faster and harder and bigger, and even after 5 years of friendship he didn't understand how (or why) he had given this much power to James. Only a few other people had any real power over Sirius Black, and all of their surnames were also Black, and all of them had abused it, at some point. Sometimes, at many some points. So, Sirius was afraid, even though James had never shown any tendencies or desires to act like any of his blood-relatives, that someday, James might turn on him.

Because, for Sirius, that was how it worked. The people he trusted the most were the people who knew the best how to hurt him. James knew him better than anyone. So, Sirius was, rarely, and only at his most contemplative, afraid of James.

Now, look, please understand, that Sirius wasn't afraid very often, because the things he was afraid of were semi-esoteric, and they required conscious consideration and thus Sirius rarely let himself think about them. It wasn't like he ever cowered, or quivered in fear or was even confidently cautious or hesitant. He was always the first to leap, even if he hadn't looked and wasn't sure anything was there to catch him. Mostly, he was completely and utterly unafraid. It's just that sometimes, it was fear masquerading as bravado, rather than true bravado, that drove him to leap. That's all. That's it.

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><p>Broad rays of thin, golden sunlight were just peeking over the tops of the mountains that ringed the castle when Sirius arrived at the Quidditch Pitch. He stood in the middle of the grassy stadium and stretched his legs and back, yawning and shivering slightly in the crisp air. Suddenly, the air above his head <em>whirred <em>and a Quaffle slammed into the ground at his feet, forcing him to leap back. His head jerked upwards, and another Quaffle smashed into his forehead, knocking him to the ground. 10 feet in the air, hovering just over his brother's prone form, having just _perfectly_ thrown both Quaffles, Regulus Black howled with laughter.

Groaning loudly, Sirius slowly clambered to his feet, and gingerly collected the two Quaffles. He tucked each under an arm, and reached for his broom, glaring outrageously at his still-laughing little brother.

In between gasps for air, Regulus tried to apologize.

"Hahaha, Siri, I'm sorry, hahaha, it was just so perfect, hahahahahaha! The look on your face, so classic, hahahaha..."

Regulus wiped tears from his face, and grinned at his brother, who had just mounted his broom. Sirius shook his head gravely, as if Regulus had just committed some grand sin.

"Fly fast, little king," Sirius told his brother. "Because, I am just going to murder you." Sirius kicked off into the sky.

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><p>The Black brothers flew together, as they did every Sunday of each school year, for two hours, chasing each other across the Pitch and through the Keeper's hoops; they changed directions and skimmed the surface of the Black Lake and the treetops of the Forbidden Forest; they collected handfuls of pebbles and pelted the windows of the Ravenclaw tower as they flew by, hoping to wake as many sleeping students as they possibly could.<p>

Soon, they returned to the Pitch and practiced with each other; Regulus picked up a bat and smashed Blugders for Sirius to re-direct, and later Sirius played Keeper and tried to prevent his little brother from scoring.

This had been a tradition since Sirius' 3rd Year, when Regulus didn't make the Slytherin Quiddtich Team, and was too angry and embarrassed to tell anyone but Sirius. Sirius, who operated under the mentality that nobody except him was allowed to torture his little brother, immediately volunteered to train with Regulus. And so, the kind-of secret Sunday morning training sessions began.

This morning, like they had every morning since the first, after a few hours of rigorous, tiring practice had been completed, the boys flew into the stands and dismounted their brooms and collapsed onto the bleachers.

Regulus stretched out his back and wiped the sweat from his eyes and forehead. Sirius could feel his little brother staring at him, and didn't flinch when Regulus brushed aside his fringe, to look at the bruised bump his perfectly thrown Quaffle had left on Sirius' forehead. Annoyed, but also proud of Regulus' aim, and his willingness to cause a little bit of hurt, in pursuit of a joke, Sirius gently knocked Regulus' hand away.

"It's fine, little king. Doesn't hurt, at all. And that was quite a good throw, for a little kid, after all."

The look of concern on Regulus' face morphed into one of exasperation, and he rolled his eyes at his older brother.

Leaning back in his seat, Sirius carefully pulled his sweaty grey pullover up over his head, leaving only his tee-shirt, hoping the chilly air would cool him down. On the mornings he played Quidditch with Reg, he only ever wore clothing that wasn't school colors, and Regulus did the same. It wasn't a conscious choice, but maybe it was easier to practice together, to be brothers together, when neither Black boy was wearing red or gold or silver or green; when the House divisions were left back up at the castle in their trunks. Because, when you strip off all the sartorial differences, the resemblance between the Black brothers is even more striking.

Sirius folded his bare arms behind his head and closed his eyes, relaxing in the warm swathe of sunlight that cloaked their section of the stands. It felt so good, so relaxing, to be sitting here like this with his little brother; it was such a simple and easy thing to do.

"Siri? Did you hear about Narcissa? And Malfoy?" Sirius didn't open his eyes, but he turned his entire body toward Regulus, and Sirius could hear the amusement in Regulus' voice in his next sentence.

"I don't know, if she told you, but Bella owled her, saying she'd run into Malfoy in Gringotts. He was getting his grandmother's ring, out of their vault." There was clear disgust and disappointment in Regulus' tone. "I guess, he's going to propose to her. Half the Slytherin girls were having hysterics about it. They all're really upset he's off the market."

Sirius did open his eyes. _Why in the name of Merlin would anyone want to marry Lucius Malfoy, _he wondered. _I mean, does wealth and power and pureblood really make up for the fact that he's an evil, cruel arse who'd probably rather be sucking off Voldemort than being with a girl? _

Sirius grimaced, and Regulus nodded hurriedly. "I _know. _And what is Narcissa _thinking_? I mean, she knows what he's really like, and she's going to marry him. I can't believe what a stupid, girly _cow _she's being."

Sirius snorted with laughter. "Reg, what would Aunt Druella say, if she heard you talking about the lovely Narcissa like that?"

Regulus smirked. "I'd just tell her that I was repeating something you'd said, and she'd completely forget to be mad at me."

Sirius half-heartedly punched at Regulus' shoulder. "Unfortunately, not a bad plan, little king."

Regulus' smirk grew broader. "Siri, remember when you pushed Malfoy into the fire, and he got lost on the Continent?" Regulus' eyes glazed over, as he considered the memory, and Sirius' whole body glowed with pride, watching his little brother revel in Sirius' long-ago prank. "That was brilliant. Maybe the funniest thing you've ever done."

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><p>Ok, now, when Regulus was ensconced in memories of Sirius' brilliance, was probably a good time. He was so embarrassed to be whinging to his little brother, but it was important, vital, even, that Regulus understand what their parents were capable of, what they would do to a son who stepped away from the script that had been written before he was even born. It was a risk, doing this, because it might infuriate Regulus, drive him toward rebellion, but it also might frighten him, knock him backwards away from Sirius-the-rebel, toward the safety and painlessness of family conformity.<p>

Sirius took a deep breath. "So, little king, I got a Howler, from home, last week." He leaned toward Regulus, and pushed up the thin sleeves of his tee-shirt, exposing the angry red lines etched into his biceps and shoulders. More lines crossed his chest and stomach, but this was enough. One couldn't look like a weakling in front of one's little brother.

"Oh, shit, Siri..." Regulus ran his fingertips across the wounds on Sirius' skin, and bit his lip when Sirius flinched.

The curse packed up in the Howler had brutalized him, scoring jagged red lines across his torso, and it was only James' strong arms and quick reflexes that had kept Sirius from toppling off the window-sill and onto the Owlery floor.

"Shit, Sirius, this wasn't me! I know I said, when you saw me with Snape, that I'd owl home, but I didn't! I wouldn't!"

Sirius held up his hand, and Regulus stuttered to a halt, still trying to think of the words to show that he would never betray his brother.

And Sirius knew that it wasn't, that it would never be Regulus. "I know, little king, it's my fault. James and I, well, we had Quidditch practice in detention with Slughorn last week, and for some reason, he got upset. _He _owled Grimmauld Place." He touched the scars on his shoulders. "She sent me this, packed up in the Howler."

Regulus' face was white, and he looked like he desperately needed to throw up, like he desperately needed to un-hear the last 5 minutes of their conversation, so he would never know about the map of familial rage and disappointment that arced across his brother's skin.

"Um, Siri,?" Regulus stood, and picked up his broomstick. He looked back at the castle, so he wouldn't have to look at his brother. "I just realized, I was supposed to meet people, for breakfast, like, half an hour ago. We're doing Summoning Charms in Flitwick, and well, I need, to practice..." His explanation petered out, and he scrubbed his hand against his eyes, clearly angry but unsure how to express it, and who to take it out on.

Sirius sat stiffly in his seat. He wanted to reach out to Regulus, to tell him that the curse hadn't hurt that badly, that it was over quickly. He wanted to say, _come away from them, little king, come and leap over here to me, and I'll catch you, I promise_.

But, the curse had been agonizing, and a week later, the scars were still painful. But, Sirius might be there to catch Regulus, but what was one brother against a whole family, and all his friends and year-mates and a fortune, and a magical inheritance that went beyond money.

"Bye, Siri," Regulus mumbled, and took off back toward the castle. Sirius sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. His shoulders ached from the motion, but he kept doing it. Fuck him if he couldn't take a little pain. He picked up his pullover and pulled it back on. The morning felt colder, now that Regulus had left.

Regulus was gone, and Sirius hadn't even asked him..."Shit, Sirius, you complete idiot," he yelled at himself, his voice echoing in the empty stands. He was glad to be making all this noise. It was a nice distraction. "You forgot to ask what the bloody hell he was doing with Snivellus."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Panacea _

"Prongs...wake up, Prongs." Groggily, angrily, James Potter peeled his eyelids open, and, without lifting his head off his pillow, stared blearily around his dormitory. The curtains that ringed Remus' four-poster were still neatly, precisely pulled, and James could still hear Peter's fractured snoring. That left...But, Sirius wasn't in his bed...

"Prongs...over here..."

"Shit, Sirius, what the bloody hell is it?" James turned, keeping his shoulders tucked under the duvet. It was the middle of October, and their stone tower was freezing. But, even as he swore at Sirius, James kept his voice pitched low, to keep from waking up their friends. He was already mourning the night's lost sleep, because there was mischief and delight in Sirius' whisper, and as much as James loved sleeping he loved this more, so, he sat up, and stretched and looked around for his shoes.

Sirius was kneeling at the side of James' bed, already dressed in dark trousers and one of Remus' black tee shirts. His grin stretched across the whole of his face, and his teeth glinted in the thin light that leaked through the thin windows. James crammed his hands against his mouth, forcing his raucous laughter at the stupid-pure happiness on Sirius' face back into his throat. He swung his hand half-heartedly at Sirius' head, and the Black boy didn't even duck or hit back at him, so clearly Sirius' idea was intense and important, and thus Sirius would very much appreciate for James to start taking this shit seriously.

It took James only a minute to get dressed, even in the near-dark of their dormitory, because he'd done this before, and also because it's not like he folded his clothes and put them away, so his trousers and shoes were still exactly where he'd stepped out of them two hours previously. Sirius was clearly going to wait until they got into the stairwell to discuss his idea, so James purposely dawdled, even when it was clear he was ready, to show Sirius that of course he was coming with him, but still, he was a little bit pissed to not be asleep anymore.

The boys closed the door softly behind themselves, and huddled in the corridor, standing in a pool of moonlight.

"So, it's Moony's time of the month in two days," Sirius began, and James giggled to himself just a bit, still amused by the way Sirius referred to Remus' transformations. "And, you know how mopey he gets."

James nodded solemnly. It's certainly true: Remus is always sad and anxious and frustrated just before he transforms. Over the years the Marauders had tried various means of cheering him up, mostly with little success.

"So..." Sirius peered around James, checking, yet again, that they were alone, before he revealed his plan.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Padfoot." James threw his arms up in the air, and spun away from Sirius, heading for their dormitory and his bed.

"Prongs!" Sirius lunged and grabbed James' wrist, yanking him back toward the top of the stairs that led down to the Common Room.

"No, stop it. I have a plan. And, it's dastardly. So, shut up."

James crossed his arms over his chest, and cocked an eyebrow at Sirius, pissed because Sirius probably wouldn't be able to see his perfectly skeptical expression in the dimness.

"So, ok, Moony's always worried that some of our pranks and shit go a bit _too far..._but, on time-of-the-month days, he's always a bit meaner...and doesn't mind so much when we're arseholes, you know?"

James nodded again. That's also certainly true, because Remus, who typically tells them off for their shitty behavior, is much less inclined to do that when he's nearing a transformation, and much more inclined to laugh, to revel in someone else's pain and embarrassment.

"Ok, at first, I thought we'd just lure Snivellus to the Willow and toss him in. You know, let Moony have him for a toy..." Sirius smirked, his eyes glinting with pleasure at the thought of Snape torn to ribbons by a werewolf, and James felt his stomach lurch.

_Yeah, _he thought frantically, _Snivellus is miserable and pathetic and an evil git, but he doesn't deserve to get eaten. And, what would happen to Remus! He'd be put down, the Ministry'd have him executed...Does Sirius not realize it, how much this would hurt Remus, too? How much it would hurt us all? _

"Shit, Sirius, you can't do-"

"Oh, I know, Prongs. Not enough time, or planning. Too complicated, to pull off in one night."

There was no irony, or joke, in Sirius' voice; he was speaking reasonably, with a hint of regret in his tone. Regret that he couldn't come up with a full-proof way to trick a classmate into a werewolf's den in one night? James wasn't sure. But, this was unconscionable, this was unfair, and someone had to tell Sirius, had to explain to him that such an action would have _such_ consequences.

"Sirius, you can't do that. Seriously. Snape, he can't, you can't do this, ok?"

"Holy shit, Prongs, I _know, _ok. That's why we're not doing it. We're doing something else."

Sirius started down the stairs, careful to move quietly, in case anyone was sleeping lightly in the rooms that lined the stairwell, and was awakened.

James remained at the top of the stairs, staring unseeingly at his best friend's back as Sirius disappeared around the curve of the staircase.

_Maybe, this is good, _he thought weakly. _This little night-time escapade is the first prank Sirius has thought up in nearly a month, since his mother sent him the Howler. And since then, Sirius has been so fucking careful, and not really his normal self at all. Maybe, this is good. It's not like he's actually going to send Snivellus into the Shack. He wouldn't _really _do that. _

And, while James Potter understood that the consequences and ramifications for sending Snivellus Snape into the Shack with Moony would be disastrous, and terrible, there was a secret part of himself, the Gryffindor part that _hated _everything that Snape stood for, but also the part of himself that wanted to sleep with Lily Evans so much he felt _weak _even thinking about it, that wouldn't mind if Snape just, stopped existing. He didn't want to kill him, personally, and he definitely didn't want Remus to do it, but. He wouldn't mind, if someone else did.

"_Prongs..._" Sirius' voice floated up the stairs, and James smirked at the impatience snarled around the whisper.

Plus, fuck all of this noise about Snape and the Willow and feeling sorry for the greasy Slytherin shit who hung around with boys who literally wanted to kill people, because they happened to be born Muggles. Sirius had woken him up, had planned something with him as the partner, trusted him to have his back and go and do this with him, and take whatever reward or punishment might come. His best friend had asked him for help with something, and of course James was going to fucking do it.

James bounded down the stairs, decidedly not taking care to be careful and quiet. He leapt down the last four steps, and almost landed on Sirius. Laughing heartily, he pushed himself off Sirius, and bowed in the direction of the Portrait entrance, letting Sirius go first. "I'm dying to see what's up your sleeve, Mr. Padfoot."

* * *

><p>Lily Evans sat rigid and upright at her desk in Potions, quivering with rage and humiliation and disappointment. She kept her eyes trained on the blackboard, even though class had not yet begun, and Slughorn was still ensconced in his office. She wanted to be looking at the door, but she sat in the front of the room and the shithead Marauders obviously sat in the back, and if she looked back at the door she would see Sirius' all-the-way smug face and James' (<em>stupid, shitty) <em>half-smug-half-upset face, and she would either explode or cry, and so, she stared at the blackboard.

She wanted to be looking at the door because she wanted the first thing Sev saw when he entered the classroom was her encouraging, happy face, but, as the minutes ticked by, it seemed less and less likely that Sev was going to come to class at all. And, as much as Lily was all for confronting your tormentors and never letting them see you cry, she would completely understand if Sev maybe wanted to keep away from the general population of Hogwarts for a bit.

* * *

><p>Because, in the corridors that morning, and glued to every seat in the Great Hall, and stuck to the flagstones of the Entrance Hall, and delivered with the morning post, and just in every imaginable place throughout the castle, <em>someone<em> had posted or stuck or mailed 'diary entries.'

They were fake, obviously, and most were only a sentence or two, but they had been stuck to the walls and the floors and benches and tables and desks with Permanent Sticking Charms, and Charmed with _Sonorous _to scream the words inscribed on them.

They were Severus Snape's 'diary entries,' and they shouted things like: "DEAR DIARY, OH, HOW I HATE TO BE SO GREASY! LOVE, SNIVELLUS!" and "DEAR DIARY, NEW GOAL ACHIEVED! TWO WHOLE WEEKS WITHOUT A SHOWER! LOVE, SNIVELLUS!" and "DEAR DIARY, DO YOU THINK COULD I BE A SHIT-EATER, INSTEAD OF A DEATH EATER? LOVE, SNIVELLUS!"

It had taken McGonagall and Flitwick whole minutes to silence the screaming pieces of paper, and even when the 'diary entries' had lost their voices the words on the paper remained, stuck to every seat and every stone and every wall of the castle.

When she had finished shutting up all the stupid diary entries, McGonagall had turned to James and Sirius, who had joined quite a few of their fellow Gryffindors on the floor of the Great Hall, having rolled off the benches from uproarious laughter. She had pointed at each of them, and jerked her finger out of the Hall and up the stairs towards Dumbledore's office. Her mouth was a thin, white line, and Lily was glad, for just that instant, because clearly McGonagall was _pissed, _and maybe _this _would teach those little shitheads that just because you think you're cool as shit doesn't mean that you can _trample _all over people's feelings, just because you want to.

James and Sirius had stood, and begun to walk out of the Hall. Sirius had slung an arm over James' shoulders, and clicked his heels together in the air, and the whole Gryffindor Table, with the decided exception of Lily, had fallen apart again. She had sat, fists curled in her lap, nails digging into her palms, and imagined all the nasty, cruel things she would like to do to James Potter and Sirius Black.

Clearly, Sirius was hopeless, and was hopelessly gone, but she'd thought that James, at least, wasn't a flaming arsehole, and might, if given the right, red-headed incentive, step away from the carelessly-cruel mantle he'd worn for most of their school career. But, no. James Potter was an arrogant, bullying toerag, and nothing would ever change that. _Fuck him. _

Hot tears had pooled in the corners of Lily's eyes, and she had scrubbed surreptitiously at them. She was crying for Sev, she told herself. She was crying for how embarrassed and angry he must be. She was _absolutely not _crying because James Potter clearly hadn't heard a word she's said during their detention-date a few weeks ago, and clearly had decided that she wasn't worth the effort of not being a bastard. She was so not crying because of that.

Just as Sirius and James had reached the door of the Hall, Sirius had suddenly turned and ducked under McGonagall's arm. He had stopped in the middle of the hall, and had thrown something up into the air. It had exploded, and girls shrieked as a snow of paper-confetti came pouring down from above their heads.

The explosion had coalesced into a huge, waggling piece of paper, which had SCREAMED so loudly the tables and candles shook: "DEAR DIARY! I'M SO SAD! LILY EVANS DOESN'T LOVE ME, AND I WANT HER SO MUCH! SHE WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME! MAYBE-"

"_Silencio!" _somebody had finally roared, and Lily had opened her eyes to see James Potter, wand extended over Sirius' shoulder, gasping from the force of his spell.

The huge floating 'diary entry' still wriggled in midair, but it did it silently, at least.

Lily had stared at James, not even a little bit moved by the apology etched in his worried features. She had turned away from him, and picked up a basket of rolls, and spent the rest of breakfast spreading jam over every inch of each of the dozen rolls in the basket, piling them neatly on her plate, and not eating a single one.

* * *

><p>But, that had been breakfast and now she was in Potions, and now she was waiting for Sev to walk through the door and come and sit with her and work on whatever Slughorn had decided to assign them. She was waiting for her best friend, so she could act normally and not talk about the horrendously embarrassing thing that had happened to him that morning, and to let him know that she loved him, and she was in his corner and on his side and all those other cliched things that could never fully express just how she felt about her best friend.<p>

Because, that is exactly what Sev is. He's her best friend, and yes he's a Slytherin, but he obviously couldn't be a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff and anyway his parents are pretty miserable and so it's not really surprising, that he's a Slytherin. (But, also, actually it is: Sev is a half-blood and while that's better than being a Muggle it's not _that _much better, and they take blood-purity painfully seriously in Slytherin. It's exceedingly brave of him, to be a Slytherin, Gryffindor-brave, actually, but that would never be a compliment for Sev, so they rarely talk about their Houses, because it's easier that way.) He's her best friend, even with all the unsavoriness and danger of his House-mates, and she feels his anger and humiliation like it's her own, and so she sits facing away from the stupid shitheads who hurt him, and hopes that he comes to class, to her.

He slid into his seat seconds before Slughorn begins his lecture, and Lily sighed with relief and happiness. She doesn't look at him, because they are both industriously taking notes, but also because she is a little bit afraid of the pain and rage that she knows is fermenting in the depths of his eyes, and it makes her heart hurt, to see him so hurt and unhappy.

Slughorn assigned his mixed class of Gryffindors and Slytherins antidotes to various poisons, and as Sev climbed out of his seat to go and get his ingredients, Lily moved.

"Sev," she whispered, and he froze. His shoulder is turned toward her while his face is turned away, and his hand is curled around the edge of their desk. Carefully, because even when he's happy Sev doesn't really like being touched, Lily reached across the desk and gently pulled his hand free. She curled her fingers through his, and squeezed his hand and nearly gasped when his hand squeezed back, tight and swift and desperate. She doesn't let go. She took some of the tension and humiliation roiling around inside of him, felt it leave his fingers and seep into her hand, felt him relax, just incrementally, as she held his hand in the middle of Potions, and didn't care who saw.

* * *

><p>Sev literally didn't say anything throughout the whole of class; didn't answer when Slughorn asks him questions or when Lily complimented him, and then, when class was over, he was the first person to fling his bag over his shoulder and walk briskly from the classroom. Lily is left to bottle up their antidote and clean up their workspace and she does it slowly, digging her sponge into every crevice of Sev's old, pitted cauldron.<p>

She was the last person to leave the classroom, and she moved slowly through the underground corridors, hoping that Sev might have waited for her, so she could speak with him in private, and not in a brightly-lit classroom full of some of the people he hated most in the world.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps hurrying behind her, and she spun, smiling and so glad to see Sev, who _had _waited-oh. It wasn't Sev. Fuck.

James Potter stood just before her, breathing a bit heavily, probably more out of fear of her than of the running he'd just done, Lily thought. Ha. Good. He fucking _should _be afraid of her.

He looked sad and upset and frustrated, but Lily did not give a shit in the slightest, because Sev was a thousand times more upset and sad and frustrated, and it was completely and entirely this shithead boy's fault.

"Look, Lily, I'm sorry, ok? I didn't mean...I didn't know, that Sirius..." James sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

No. She was _so_ not the person to whom he should be apologizing, and also, enough was really fucking enough.

"Shut _up, _Potter," Lily snarled, and James' eyes went wide. "Just shut the bloody hell up. I don't have any interest in hearing this, from you." She took a step forward, and he leaned back, away from her rage.

"Remember our conversation, a while ago, about how we do shit, because our best friends _need _us to?" James nodded, but Lily kept going. She did not need his acknowledgement.

"Did Sirius _need _you to embarrass Sev? He _needed _your help with this? Or, did you just do it because you're an arrogant, bullying toerag who doesn't care about anybody but himself?" Lily's whole body trembled with the force of her rage, and she could see the fear in James' face, and it made her happy. Proud of herself. _Fuck him. _

"Well, Potter, now my best friend _needs _me to figure out a way to make him feel better, because you and _your_ best friend decided to shit all over him!" She drew herself up, and, for the first time in her life, felt miles taller than James Potter, who looked so small and meek and diminished.

"Fuck you, Potter. Now, my best friend _needs _you to never talk to me again. So. Do that." Lily gulped, and nearly gasped. This was the end of anything that ever might have been between her and James. It felt like she'd just been kicked in the ribs, like all the air had gone out of the corridor, and she and James were left to drown. He looked like he felt that way too. But, fuck him. Because, Sev looked like he was drowning _all the time, _and James Potter was often the person responsible.

Lily breathed in the last bit of air left in the corridor, leaving none for James. "Don't talk to me. ever again, James." She turned away from him, holding her breath, hearing him gasping behind her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

_amity/enmity _

"I thought I'd find you out here." Lily made her tone light and soft, careful to keep her pervasive fear for Sev's safety and well-being, and you know, _mental state_, or whatever, out of her voice. He'd been a ghost all week, except that simile wasn't exactly true, because the Hogwarts ghosts were fully-functioning members of castle life, and didn't just disappear for days on end.

_A wraith, maybe_, Lily mused, as she sat down next to her best friend, on the far side of the Black Lake, deliberately ignoring the way his shoulders hunched further forward, and the line of his jaw trembled. _He was like a wraith, _she thought, _dressed in patched black robes and burdened with a sad history, and...ok, Lily, he's not some tragi-romantical fairy tale person, he's your best friend. Who hasn't talked to you (or anyone, maybe) for days. Make him better. _

Because, she could. Because she was so good at this, excellent at it, really-so good at the precise and slightly terrifying blend of cheerleading and rage-pacifying and melancholy-lifting that was required of Severus Snape's best friend.

They had been friends since they were nine, when he told her that she was a Witch who could do Magic, and that now, everything in the life she had imagined for herself would change.

And they stayed friends, even when House enmities made it stressful or painful, because Lily Evans was goddamned _loyal _to her friends, but she was also stubborn as fuck and when people told her she couldn't do things or have things or be things, it only made her go after them with that much more ferocity.

So, _No_, the noble side of Lily told the moronic Marauders, and her other year-mates, when they expressed their distaste for Sev, _No_, I will not give up our friendship just because it bothers you. He's one of my oldest friends, and he showed me this magical world that you all were born into and consequently took for granted and _No,_ I will not stop just because he's a Slytherin.

That is what Noble Lily told her friends and shouted at James Potter but see, it wasn't entirely accurate. I mean, obviously it was _true, _but it wasn't exactly the whole truth. Because, see, it was kind of exciting, and kind of fascinating, and kind of titillating, to be so close to somebody who was so dark and bleak. Nothing else in her life was quite so foreign, quite so painful. Her parents were loving and lovely, her childhood had been loving and lovely, her whole life was going to be loving and lovely. And, Sev was neither of those things, with a vengeance.

He was volatile and angry and that made him dangerous, because most of his rage was directed in ways and at people who he could never hurt, enough. He wasn't just prickly or difficult, he was downright fucking scary, and as much as it made Lily so sad to know how hopeless he felt almost all the time, she didn't hate the danger he brought into her life. It was kind of...sexy, and yes, she knows that's totally improper and completely fucked up, but...whatever. So, she has her noble reasons for being friends with Sev, and then she has her not-so-noble reasons, and that's fine. She doesn't have to be loving and lovely all the time.

Except, Sev needs her right now. He needs her to be present and interested in him, needs someone to haul him up from the churning maelstrom of furious humiliation that he sometimes drops himself into. He needs her to be light and lovely-to give him something good to crawl back towards.

"So, Sev, did I ever tell you about the time Pet and I drove our babysitter completely mental?" She risked an oblique glance at the boy next to her. He still sat, as still as stone, but maybe there was a slight unloosening in his shoulders? She smiled to herself, just a little bit.

"Pet and I hated this babysitter, because she always put us to bed before the sun had even gone down! What torture, yeah?" Lily nudged her shoulder against Sev's shoulder, and when he didn't flinch away, she let her arm rest against his. "So, Pet and I _schemed. _After she put us to bed, we snuck into the crawlspace that runs the length of my house...the one you'd never know was there, if you didn't already know about it? We spent the whole night crawling around, banging the walls and whispering shit. And, the old bat could never make it up the stairs to catch us! She'd come barreling into our rooms, and we'd always be sounds asleep in our beds."

Lily snickered, and there was an edge to it, a tiny admission that she had enjoyed torturing her babysitter, that she absolutely understood the need to seek revenge on those who'd harmed you. She waited, to see if her story, her presence, her friendly normalcy, had been enough.

"Well, what happened?" Sev murmured, his voice hoarse with disuse and strain, and Lily grinned at her best friend as if these were't the first words he'd spoken to her in 6 days.

"Um, well, she phoned our parents, screaming about ghosts in the house, and how she wouldn't stay in such a place, and she bolted before they even left the restaurant." Lily snuggled her shoulder deeper into Sev's and she felt him relax, fractionally. "She certainly never babysat for us, again." She stopped. She'd drawn Sev out of his carapace, now it was up to him to decide the path of the conversation, and what would happen next.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "So, it would have been a lot more believable, if the shitheads had picked anyone but me, you know? I mean," he gestured at himself. "Do I look like the type of bloke who keeps a fucking diary?"

Lily giggled, and she wanted to leap up and do cartwheels around Sev, but settled instead for leaning her head on his shoulder. She felt him turn his face into her hair, and breathe in the freesia smell of her shampoo.

"Sev, your diary would be curse etymologies, or recipes for untraceable poisons."

"Diagrams for dismembering certain professors, with weight and height all figured in."

"Oh, haha, how about secret notes on a Death Eater meeting, because actually, you're a spy..."

* * *

><p>"Sirius Black, for the love of Merlin, would you shut your fucking face!"<p>

Quiet crashed into the Gryffindor Common Room, and Sirius, who'd been balanced on a couch playing Keep Away with a 1st Year's bag, missed his footing and tumbled backwards over the couch arm. He promptly leapt back up, staring horrifiedly at James, who'd just shouted for him to shut up.

The melodramatic betrayal etched on Sirius' face was hilarious, but James just wasn't in the mood. He had a headache which wasn't actually from Sirius' clamor at all-because James could design Quidditch plays in a Sirius-hurricane if he had to-but rather, the headache was from watching Lily watch the poor 1st Year Sirius was torturing try with ever-increasing desperation, to get his bag back from Sirius.

He had a headache because it looked like Lily had a headache, and since she was clearly trying to decide how best to intervene with a boy who _gloried_ in listening to no one, James decided to do it for her. Hence the shouting and the Sad-Sirius face.

James felt every eye in the Common Room staring at him, and never before this moment had he not _loved_ being the center of everyone's attention, but right now, he wanted to be anywhere but there. He scooped up his bag and flung it over his shoulder, and began to stride decisively toward the Portrait Hole.

"Sorry," he muttered to Lily as he passed her, and the soft surprise in her eyes made him want to throw himself on the ground in front of her, and beg her to let him stay with her, so they could just sit and be quiet and calm together.

But, that wasn't an option, and it was entirely his fault-he'd properly fucked up anything that might ever be with Lily with that stupid diary prank, after she expressly told him that his treatment of Snivellus was basically the only thing stopping him from having a lap full of redhead.

But, again, how was he supposed to choose between his best friend and Lily? And, it's not like Lily had asked him to choose anything, but nevertheless, James had picked and it _was _his choice, but maybe Sirius needed to make some choices too, like the choice to _not _be an arsehole just because it was easy and expected of him and everyone forgave him for it anyway. Yes, Sirius had a fucked up family, and some fucked up forces pushing him towards something horrible, but, Sirius was _all about _rebellion against the expected. So, yes, he only ever hurt Slytherins, but he was still _hurting _people, and that was maybe a pretty good victory for the Black family against Sirius' better nature.

In the corridor just outside the Portrait Hole, James heard feet hurrying after him-he expected Remus, wouldn't have minded Peter, didn't let himself hope for Lily, and was properly surprised when Sirius strolled into view.

"Prongs, mate," Sirius said, making _mate _sound like _shithead. _"The fuck was that about?"

Oh. So this was going to be a fight, then. Ok, fine. This could be a bloody fight. James felt his lips curl up into a snarl, and he stepped forward, into Sirius' space. "Well, Padfoot, I was getting tired of you being an arse to that 1st Year. Don't you ever get tired of you, either?"

Sirius stepped back, maybe a bit surprised by James' retort, and James felt a furious satisfaction begin buzz under his skin.

"But, Prongs, you're, the king of 1st Year Keep Away...you had that scabby one chasing his bag for half an hour, last week."

James spun around and slammed his hands into the corridor wall. Sirius flinched. "Yeah, and after I'm done here, I'm going to find him, and, apologize."

Sirius laughed, but it sounded worried. James marveled at how much he did not give a shit about Sirius' feelings at this moment.

"What, what the fuck for, Prongs?"

"Because, you don't always have to be an arsehole! You don't always have to go around making people feel small and all worthless, ok?" James took a deep breath, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He and Sirius were two feet from the Portrait Hole, and he would bet his Nimbus 1995 that the whole of Gryffindor was listening to their little lovers' quarrel. Hopefully, that included Lily, too. But, James realized, looking at Sirius' unconcerned smirk, that even if Lily wasn't listening, even if nobody was, Sirius still needed to hear this.

"But, Prongs," Sirius smiled charmingly. "I'm just so angry."

James sighed; this phrase was an in-joke amongst the Marauders. It had started when Remus, who, unsurprisingly, was really interested in rage and ways to channel it, had, one day in 3rd Year, asked Sirius why he did the stupid, shitty things that he did. Sirius had turned to Remus and had said, in a high-pitched yet still very grave voice, "Well, Moony, it's because I'm just so angry!"

And that had become Sirius' pocket excuse, and people forgave him when he trotted it out, because, yeah, it kind of made sense, and it was _nearly_ an approximation of an apology, and that was how Sirius resolved things.

James could see it in Sirius' face; Sirius' jaw was relaxed and his eyes were sparkling, and he clearly expected James to laugh, and to fling an arm around Sirius, and to walk away from this. But, no. Not this time. Not this time a little bit because Lily was hopefully listening to James be a grown-up, but mainly because it wasn't fair for Sirius to claim that it was his own pain that made him turn around and inflict pain on others. It wasn't fair for Sirius to never realize that actions have consequences, and you can be as charming as you like but the consequences don't go away just because you grin madly at them.

James shook his head. "It's not enough, Sirius." He turned away from Sirius, back towards the Portrait Hole. He'd rather, he realized, walk through a room of concerned, curious faces than spend one more second out in the corridor with Sirius.

Sirius' hand clamped down on James' shoulder, and spun James around. Sirius shoved himself forward into James' space, boiling rage twisting his features.

"Go fuck yourself, Potter," he growled. "You've no fucking right to be pissed at me, for something you do too."

Furious, James shoved Sirius' chest, and the Black boy stumbled backwards.

"I've every fucking right, Sirius, as your best mate, and" James leaned in and spoke softly because no matter how angry he was at Sirius they were still Padfoot and Prongs, "and, I've every right, as the bloke who held you up on the Owlrey window, and kept you from...falling."

Sirius' face went ghost-pale under his dark fringe and he swallowed thickly.

"I've every right," James continued, "because I know that it's wrong. It's wrong to take a 1st Year's bag, and make him chase you 'round the Common Room, and embarrass him in front of his mates, and all of Gryffindor. It's humiliating, and it's wrong." James looked straight into Sirius' eyes. "It's mean, and it's wrong, and I can see that. I can understand it. I'm ashamed of myself for doing it."

He saw Sirius' face go slack, as he clearly wanted to make a shamelessness joke, but James held up his hands.

"Sirius. I can see that it's wrong. Do you?"

"Shit, Prongs..."

"Shut up and answer me."

"Look, it's funny and-"

"Do you not see that it's fucking wrong to hurt people that are weaker that you?"

Sirius opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again. He threw his arms up in the air, as if he were asking the corridor why James Potter was being so silly today. He didn't answer.

James shoved his knuckles into Sirius' chest. It was like a punch, like a punctuation mark that denotes finality.

"That, right there, is why, Padfoot, I have the right to tell you to shut your fucking face."

James turned his back on his best friend, and climbed through the Portrait Hole.

* * *

><p>He didn't look around as he walked through the Common Room, didn't acknowledge Remus or Peter, didn't look at the chair Lily had been sitting in when he stormed out. He stripped off his sweater and shirt as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory, and kicked off his trousers as the door swung shut behind him. Carefully, he pulled the thick hangings around his four-poster closed, and gently dropped himself onto his pillow. He lifted his hands up to his face, and his fingertips brushed something soft and cool.<p>

Confused, he fumbled for his wand, and whispered "_Lumos."_ Soft light filled his closed-in bed. In the silvery glow of his wand, James Potter gaped at the sweet-smelling lily arranged delicately on his pillow.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think! **


	10. Chapter 10

_Rattus Rattus_

"Mr. Pettigrew!" Professor McGonagall's brogue snapped through the 'tt' and the 'r' of his last name, and Peter flinched to attention.

"Could you please explain the three major impediments in animate-to-inanimate Transfiguration?" She said it like an order, like it was a certainty that he would know the answer.

Peter sighed. Of course he didn't know the answer; he was only scraping through 5th-Year Transfiguration because James and Remus cheated their fingers off for him. His complete lack of ability and aptitude would become glaringly clear during their OWLs, he knew, and it really infuriated him that his best friends didn't seem as worried about this as he was. As if they didn't care about the separation of the Marauders that would inevitably occur, when Peter achieved OWLS in Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, and nothing else.

Mostly it was magnificent, but sometimes it was frustrating, and nauseatingly unfair, to be friends with these boys. All three were brilliant at almost everything, and whatever they weren't perfect at on the first try they could work through on the 2nd or 3rd, while Peter was still struggling to even begin his first attempt.

He wasn't sure, that even after 5 years, James and Remus realized just how much (and how desperately) Peter cheated off of them. Sometimes he even got better grades that James or Sirius on work that he took from them, because he spent time organizing their thoughts and writing them down neatly, and Professors appreciated that effort. He may not have been able to do the work himself, but he was damn good at faking it. But, he couldn't fake this. Shit.

"Um, the three ma-major impediments?" He could remember the section in Remus' notes titled exactly this, but he couldn't for the fucking life of him, recall what was written _under_ the heading.

"Well, the condensation on, I mean _of_, the bone structure?" McGonagall's lips narrowed slightly, and Peter felt a shiver of dread race up his spine. His fingertips felt cold and trembly.

He risked a glance to his left, a silent plea for his deskmate's help, but Remus was broody and miserable on this morning before a full moon, and clearly was barely cognizant that he was currently in class, let alone that a tricky question had been posed.

_Shit_. Couldn't Moony wake up for 30 seconds to help him? Peter _always_ stayed up on full-moon nights and romped through the Forbidden Forest with his friends, and never complained about how tired he was the next day. For Merlin's sake, Remus could snap out of it long enough to angle his notes so Peter could see them.

Typically, by now James would have turned lazily around in his seat at the desk directly in front of Peter and, in the guise of stretching or rescuing a fallen quill, dropped a note with the answers scribbled across it on to Peter's desk. But today, James was sitting across the classroom with the Dale Greengrass the Ravenclaw Keeper, and could only grin apologetically at Peter.

_Shit_. James wasn't in his usual, helpful spot because his usual spot was right next to Sirius and at this moment the two boys were very angrily and very obviously not talking.

Peter sighed gustily at Sirius' tightly-clenched back. Sirius, who would never in a million years turn around and give Peter the answer, Sirius, who often told Remus and James to quit helping Peter so much, because Peter was a big boy and should learn to do things for his fucking self, Sirius, whose bloody fault Peter's whole answerless predicament was.

"Mr. Pettigrew, I have been quite patient. Please, was that uncertain phrase the extent of your knowledge on this subject?"

Under his desk, Peter ground his knuckles against his knees. He couldn't answer McGonagall's question, but it wasn't his fault, and if Sirius'd stopped being such an obnoxious shithead about the whole fight, Peter wouldn't be in this bloody uncomfortable spot, because one of his friends would have helped him. Only a foot away from him now, Professor McGonagall cracked her knuckles and met his eyes. Peter gulped. _Shit_.

* * *

><p>Transfiguration had been an unmitigated disaster, and infuriatingly, lunch, which should have been wonderful because- no teachers! and food!- was actually worse. Peter had been kept after class for a private dressing-down by McGonagall, and by the time he skidded into the Great Hall, all the stews were cold and his favorite oat-raisin bread had been demolished.<p>

As Peter slid on to the bench next to James, James ducked his head and apologized for not helping him out in class, and Peter felt his spirits lift, slightly. Moony had gone back to the Tower to have a nap, and that admission of weakness made Peter feel sympathetically-superior, so he decided that it was unfair of him to be angry with Moony for his own Transfiguration humiliation.

James handed him a goblet of pumpkin juice, and Peter grinned broadly at him. "What happened, Pete?" the bespectacled boy inquired, his mouth full of sandwich. "What'd she give you?"

"Ah, no punishment, just a lecture." Peter squinched his cheeks into a thin pout, and stared beadily at James, "about how I simply must apply myself more, Mr. Pettigrew."

James snorted, bits of lunch flying out of his mouth, and Peter laughed uproariously with him. It felt so good to be James Potter's best friend.

Sirius, sitting three seats away from them rather than in his normal place directly to James' right, was clearly watching them, and Peter's insides felt all warm and smooth and liquid-y; awash with happiness at his usurpation of Sirius' place in James' life.

Sirius leaned down the table, and Peter watched James' eyes go cold.

" I don't think teachers can give detentions just for utter stupidity, Wormtail," Sirius said, and Peter's laughter died abruptly in his throat.

James didn't smile at Sirius' joke, not even for one instant, and Peter felt a flash of loving ecstasy for James Potter, because he truly could be counted on to understand both the important stuff, and the tinily significant stuff.

"Ignore that yapping, Pete, he's not part of this conversation." James turned away from Sirius, angling himself awkwardly on the bench, letting Peter know via body language that James was completely and only interested in him.

Sirius' low, mean chuckle echoed down the table, and a silence fell over the Gryffindors seated near the feuding Marauders.

"Oh, ok, Potter, I know you're pissed at me, but I promise you, you couldn't ignore me, even if a shot at Evans' twat depended on it!"

James spun, fury graven in his face, and Peter sighed. Yet a-fucking-gain Sirius had wrecked something that Peter was enjoying. And why, though? Why did the Black boy always seem to fell as if it was incumbent upon him to ruin Peter's good times with James? Sirius wasn't James' only friend. Maybe it was time Sirius understood that.

"Black!" James whisper-shouted, frantic to keep Lily from hearing this conversation. "Don't you ever talk about her like that, again!"

Sirius smiled, but it didn't reach his shuttered eyes. He raised his voice. "Why not, Prongs? It's what you want, isn't it? Oh, shit, I just thought..." Sirius licked his lips and stared lasciviously down the table at Lily. "Prongs. Do you think the carpet matches the fucking drapes?"

Peter saw James flinch. His insides seethed. Sirius was being TERRIBLE to his best friend. _What the fuck. Someone should stop him. Someone should...oh. Maybe, several someones. Several Slytherin someones, should stop him_.

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><p>It was easy to sneak out of the Great Hall with a group of students as the lunch hour dwindled down, since most of his fellow Gryffindors were avidly occupied with the across-the-table row between James Potter and Sirius Black.<p>

Peter waited until he law Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange leave the Slytherin table, then he scurried up the length of the Great Hall after them. He saw them walking slowly toward the door that led down the the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room, and, checking to make sure no one was watching, Peter strode purposefully after them.

* * *

><p>They were surprised as fuck when Peter strolled under a sconce, and the yellowish light illuminated his face and his scarlet-and-gold tie. Malfoy and Lestrange, and now Montague, were clustered in a corridor that led to the Potions classroom, and they looked wildly confused to see Peter so far out of his comfort zone. Peter smiled meanly at them, and Montague raised his wand, obviously expecting the other Marauders to leap out of the shadows with curses on their lips.<p>

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy was the first to recover. "Ahem. Pettigrew. What, exactly are you doing, in our territory?"

Peter took a deep breath. This was for James, he told himself, and not at all because Sirius had let him be embarrassed in Transfiguration today. Really, it was only just for James.

"You've heard, I imagine, that James and Sirius are, erm, fighting." He was shocked by the strength of his own voice, by the way it echoed nicely in the stony corridor.

"Of course," Malfoy responded silkily. "Everyone in the castle knows the Gryffin-queers are quarreling this week."

"Yeah, but does everyone in the castle know _why_?"

Peter saw Malfoy's face ripple in the thin, pale light-for just an instant, he looked horrified-then, his features smoothed themselves into avid curiosity. He stepped forward, and placed a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder.

"No, Pettigrew, I've no idea why. Do you know?"

Of course he did. He may not have known the answer in Transfiguration, but he fucking knew the answer to this.

He lifted his head, and probably for the first time in his life, looked Malfoy in the eyes.

"If I tell you, you've got to do something with it. Something to...hurt Sirius. To put him, in his place." He didn't feel the least bit sorry, saying those words, because look what Sirius had done to James today! Sirius was not being a good friend, so, you know what, neither was Peter.

Malfoy was nodding so furiously the movement of his head mussed up his stiffly-combed hair, and Peter grinned at him.

Malfoy understood him perfectly-understood how sometimes certain people need to be taught certain lessons. Sirius was absolutely such a person.

Peter opened his mouth. It didn't even feel like a betrayal, because Sirius did it first, did it worse.

"James is mad because Sirius is being cruel, to, um, weaker kids, and doesn't understand why that's wrong. And..."

* * *

><p>Six long days had passed, since Peter had told the Slytherin 7th Years his Marauder secrets, and nothing had come of it. Six days of anticipation and excitement and secret-keeping had passed, and nobody had ambushed Sirius, and Sirius hadn't come back to the Tower sporting a bloody nose or a set of antlers, and what's worse, James was slowly thawing his Sirius-freeze.<p>

Because, after the lunch-table-row, Sirius was fucking contrite. He woke up early to steal breakfast from the kitchens to bring to them all in bed, and snuck into Hogsmeade to buy whole shelves of Honeydukes candy and even though James wouldn't talk directly to him, Sirius apologized continuously to his Prongsie, and knew that his contrition was getting through to James.

Peter seethed silently, watching James gradually and almost in spite of himself, forgive Sirius. James still wouldn't talk to Sirius, but he no longer avoided sitting next to him in class, and he ate the perfectly buttered toast that Sirius brought him each morning, and he climbed into the showers that Sirius started for him with a rueful grin on his face.

On Sunday afternoon, Remus and Peter were sprawled in the Common Room, half-heartedly playing Exploding Snap, when the Gryffindor Quidditch team burst through the Portrait Hole. James was flushed and sweaty from practice, and Peter's heart shredded when he saw James toss the Quaffle over his shoulder, directly into Sirius' path, so the Black boy had to swing at it with his Beater's Bat. James followed the arc of the ball as it crossed the Common Room, and he dashed up and over the back of a couch to catch it.

Both boys were laughing, and Remus joined in, clearly thrilled to see his best friends in sync again. Peter shuddered with rage. He wanted to scream at James: _How could you forgive someone, who betrays you like that? How could you trust him again? How could you let him back into your life?_

James tossed the Quaffle back to Sirius, and dropped onto the arm of Remus' chair. He brushed his sweaty hair out of his face, and watched absently as Sirius threw the Quaffle to the rest of the returning Quidditch team. He sighed, and carefully refrained from looking at Remus or Peter. "So, it was almost like one of the Bludgers had it out for me today...but, um, Sirius saved me from a broken nose, and then from falling off my broom, because of it."

Remus grinned happily at James, and Peter looked away from their delight, furious, but completely unable to articulate why, exactly, he was angry at the re-coalescing of the Marauders. Instead, he watched as Bert Croog flung the Quaffle out of the still-open Portrait Hole, and Sirius, barking like a dog, dashed out of the Tower after it. Bert and Randall Kent howled with laughter as Sirius' barks echoed in the corridor.

James leaned down and tapped the chessboard, and Peter jumped. "Pete, watch out for your knight, he's got it in just a few moves."

Peter smiled. This was something he was better at than James Potter, for a bunch of reasons, none of which were particularly appetizing. "Yeah, but I have to sacrifice the knight, Prongs, so I can take his queen. See?"

James' brow furrowed, and he examined the arrangment of the pieces on the board for a long minute. "Yeah, I guess...I just hate that, you know? That you've got to sacrifice your pieces, in order to win...I'd rather not, I guess..."

Remus lifted his hand to his heart melodramatically. "Well, isn't that a surprise, Prongs Potter, _not_ interested in winning..."

James smirked. "Well, it's not that big of a deal..."

"Oi, Potter!" a voice from near the Portrait Hole shouted, and James lifted his head. "There's a, uh, surprise, for you, in the corridor!"

James crossed to the Portrait Hole quickly, with Peter and Remus just behind him, both ready to defend their friend (if the surprise turned out to be a pack of Slytherins) and, to (hopefully) join in the (fun/delicious) surprise that awaited him.

But, this surprise was neither. It was a Slytherin, but it was a rather pitiful Slytherin. A nearly naked, shivering, upside-down Severus Snape floated in the corridor just outside the Gryffindor Tower, one ankle caught by _Levicorpu__s_. A thick red ribbon was tied in a sloppy bow around his neck, and the ends of the ribbon brushed the corridor floor as Snape floated helplessly.

Immediately, James murmured _Liberacorpus_, and Snape fell, landing on his back and rolling limply onto his side. Swearing under his breath, James pulled his Quidditch robes off and knelt to drape them over Snape's bare chest. But he froze before he let them fall, and stared, utterly horrified, at Snape's chest. Peter squeezed himself closer, and saw what had been done to Snape.

"_I'm sorry Prongs. Love Padfoot_," James whispered, reading the words that had been carved into Snape's thin chest. He slowly extended his fingers to touch the words, and Snape moaned and tried to roll away. "Oh, no, shit, is that...is that blood?" James' voice was high and frightened, and he turned away from Snape, and retched helplessly. Peter winced, embarrassed for his friend, to be looking so weak in front of the whole of Gryffindor, but James looked like he couldn't have cared less about that. _Maybe that's what popularity truly is_, Peter mused, _when you can look so unbearably stupid, and people still like you for it_.

Slowly, James stood, and handed his Quidditch robes to Remus. "Moony, see what you can do for him, please," he whispered, and Remus nodded solemnly. James raised his voice. "Somebody, go get Pomfrey! Somebody else, go get McGonagall!"

James looked down the corridor, and Peter squinted in the direction his best friend was staring. Sirius was strolling towards them, his arms full of butterbeers, almost skipping with glee and anticipation. He tossed a butterbeer up in the air, when he saw James and Peter looking at him, and waved madly at them before he caught it on its way back down.

James shuddered. "The little fucker's _celebrating_," he murmured to Peter. "He's celebrating, hurting Snape. I can't believe this shit. I thought...I thought he understood, how I felt about this."

James scrubbed his hands across his face, and Peter saw tears glinting beneath James' glasses. _Oh, man_, Peter realized. _James'll never forgive Sirius for this! This is perfect! This is...just what I wanted...Oh, fucking shit. Was this a setup? Was this actually the Slytherins? And not Sirius? Because I asked them to hurt Sirius? P_eter gnawed nervously on the index finger of his left hand_. This could be great...or, also, this could be terrible. Shit_.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So, firstly, I'm terribly sorry that I haven't updated in forever, and secondly, I'm terribly sorry that I left poor Snape just lying there on the floor outside the Gryffindor Common Room, all bloody and tortured. Hopefully this super long (for me, at least) chapter makes up for it!**

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><p><em>Snape in the Grass<em>

_Scritch. __Scritch. __Scritch. _The scrape of Madam Pomfrey's quill reverberated in the nearly-silent Hospital Wing; and even though Lily was hunched in a chair next to Sev's bed, and Madam Pomfrey was sitting in her office with the door partially closed, the scratch of the quill still sounded louder than Sev's whispery breathing. But, maybe it only sounded this way because Lily was concentrating so fiercely on willing Sev to keep on taking his short, silent breaths, was wishing so desperately for him to open his eyes and speak to her, that the scrape of the quill was somewhat magnified in her frantically-worried imagination.

_It__'__s __not __like __I __haven__'__t __sat __here __before, _she mused dryly to herself, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the white bandages wrapped around Sev's thin chest, _and __he __always __does __seem __to __wake __up, __not __that __much __worse __for __the __wear. _Gently, she reached out and stroked Sev's motionless fingers. He didn't react at all. Normally, if she'd surprised him, he would have flinched at her touch; or, when he saw that a touch was coming, he would look at her with a mixture of resignation and longing in his eyes, as if he both desperately wanted her to put her hands on him, and yet also, was maybe afraid that she might hurt him in doing it.

Lily made sure that she hugged and petted and mock-punched and held hands with Sev mostly because he needed someone who touched him as a casual thing; someone to show him that not all touching had to be a prelude to anger or fear or pain or humiliation. He needed someone to make touch a normal, mundane thing- an expected, un-scary thing, that wouldn't cause him to curl up into a little mental ball of anxiety.

She really had to think about it sometimes, to judge when it would just be too much for Sev, when her hugging him or grabbing his hand was too much for him to handle; when he needed to just _be_in his own skin. When he needed to feel like the only person who could touch him was Sev himself. Lily smiled tiredly down at the pale, bandaged boy stretched out on the narrow Hospital Wing bed. _Sometimes, _she thought, hating herself a little bit for this thought, even as the boy was laying unconscious in front of her, _it __was __quite __a __lot __of _work _to __be __Severus __Snape__'__s __best __friend._

(And, she knew, it was absolutely _not _quite a lot of work to be Lily Evans' best friend; it was very easy and enjoyable and uncomplicated to be her friend, because Firstly, she didn't have all this dark emotional baggage and Secondly, she wasn't an abrasive bastard.)

Sometimes, it was _too_much work to be Severus Snape's best friend, but Lily did it anyway, because she had this idea (and maybe it was naive but it was hers, anyway): that children are stellar judges of character. And, her nine-year-old self had decided that the scrawny, untidy Sev was a wonderful person, and was worth it, come what fucking may.

_People __change, __Lily, _her 15-year-old self often wanted to scream at the little girl she had been. _People __fucking __change. __They __become __friends __with __boys __who __think __you __are __too__ '__dirty__' __to __be __allowed __at __Hogwarts, __and __they __might __not __ever __call __you __a__ '__Mudblood__' __but __that __doesn__'__t __mean __that __they __don__'__t __call __other __people __that. __People __change, __and __sometimes __it__'__s __for __the __worse, __and __sometimes __you __can__'__t __do __a __single__ thing __about __it._

But, Lily hadn't changed- or rather, she hadn't changed very much, which is why she sat by Sev's bed in the Hospital Wing after a prank or a fight put him there, and made sure that the first face he saw when he struggled back to consciousness was her own. And, she imagined, sitting by his hospital bed waiting for him to wake up, might compel him to wake up in other, metaphorical ways. He might wake up to the fact that his Slytherin friends were cruel and bigoted and Death Eaters by destiny and by choice. He might wake up to the fact that he was also headed down that dark path, for no other reason than they were the first group of people who had accepted him, had welcomed him, even, for his skills with spells and curses.

_I __welcomed __you, __too_, Lily wanted to scream at him sometimes. _I __welcomed __you __too, __and __I __welcomed __you __first __and __I __cherished __you __and __loved __you __and __was __loyal __to __you, __and __all __that __shit, __and __you__'__re__ throwing __me __away. __You__'__re __throwing __me __away __because __a __bunch __of __bullies __in __black __cloaks __and __stupid __masks __are __telling __you __to. __You__'__re __throwing __me __away __because __you __can__'__t __be __my __friend _and _be __a __Death __Eater, __you __can__'__t __walk __with __Voldemort __and __also __walk __with __me. _

So, Lily Evans sat by Severus Snape's hospital bed because he was her oldest friend, and because she thought maybe she could save him from himself, if she held on to him hard enough, and also because he was the first person to tell her about Magic, about Hogwarts and the Wizarding world and how her new life would be there. He'd given her the gift of _Magic_, and that was more than she could ever give him, so each time she sat by his bed and held his hand and waited for him to wake up.

* * *

><p>Lily was dozing lightly in her chair, her fingers still loosely wrapped around Sev's, when she first heard him stir. He shifted himself amidst the crisp white sheets, clearly itching from the skin-regrowth creams Madam Pomfrey had massaged into his wounds, and slowly opened his eyes. He stared blearily at her for a second, and then relaxed, his shoulders and neck dropping back onto the pillow, clearly pleased to see her. He didn't remove his hand from hers, and when Lily tightened her fingers, a faint flush crept up his bare chest.<p>

"Fancy meeting you here, Diamond Lil," he croaked and Lily grinned at him. He called her Diamond Lil after an American gangster woman, or something, and Lily loved the nickname, because here was a nickname with some _creativity! _(In contrast, for example, 'Evans' wasn't much of a nickname at all.)

"I know, Sev. It is _quite_ the surprise to find ourselves in the Hospital Wing. I've not been here since I got lost looking for the Astronomy Tower in 1st Year. You?"

Sev smirked at her, stretched out in the bed that over the past 5 years they'd both come to think of as 'his.' "My first time, actually. But, I've no idea why I don't come up here more often. It's delightful." On the last word, he made his voice go all high-pitched and breathy, a perfect imitation of the inane Zinnia Parkinson, and Lily snorted.

"There's just the problem of how to get up here, without getting one's chest all sliced up." He lifted his hands and let them flutter back down to the coverlet, and Lily could see the strain and humiliation of his injuries reflected in his slitted eyes. She swallowed, and it burned, going down her throat.

"Sev, I, I can't... I'm _so _incredibly sorry that they did this to you, that Sirius hurt you like that." She flinched, remembering the jagged red letters carved into Sev's bare chest. "You think, you know, that every time is the worst thing he's done, and then, it just keeps getting worse. Seriously, as much as I despise him, I just can't believe he'd be so heartless."

Sev smiled happily at her, and Lily felt her brow furrow. Sev was taking this whole horrific experience surprisingly well. Typically, when he ended up in the Hospital Wing, he raged against the Marauders and their bullying tendencies, and how everyone seemed to forgive them, and Lily had to reassure him over and over that not everyone hero-worshipped them. That _she _certainly didn't.

But today, he seemed calm. And not resigned or simmering or silently frustrated, but just..._calm. _

She inched her chair closer to his bed. "Sev, what happened?" She rushed her next sentence, as if she believed his lack of immediate response to her question to be a result of humiliation, rather than this strange calm. "If you, don't want to tell me, that's alright. I just want you to know that I'm so sorry, and that I'm here for you, for anything you need. And," she grinned at him, knowing this would compel a reaction but unsure exactly what kind of reaction this might be, "James is probably never going to speak to Sirius again."

The smile that spread across Sev's thin face was poisonous and bitter, and Lily leaned away from the furious glee that glinted in his dark eyes. She gulped. She'd never seen his face look like this before.

He burrowed back into his pillows, and closed his eyes. "Perfect," he murmured. "This was absolutely worth it, then."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "It was worth it, to get tortured by Sirius? Worth it to be in pain and be hurt, just so they all keep fighting?" She shook her head slowly. _That__'__s __a __little __sick, __Sev, _she wanted to tell him. _That__'__s __a __little __sick, __that __you t__hink __getting __hurt __so __badly __is __worth __something __that__'__s actually __so __fucking __petty_.

Maybe Sev misconstrued the confusion in her eyes for eagerness, or something, because he slowly, groaningly, lifted himself into a half-hunched position, so he could speak right next to her ear. He turned his face towards hers, and Lily heard him inhale the scent of her hair as he leaned his mouth towards her.

"I've got a secret, Diamond Lil," he whispered, and Lily forced herself to stay exactly where she was, to not draw back from Sev, and his secret. He tapped his fingers against his breastbone. "Black didn't do this. A bunch of us-" his Slytherin friends, Lily knew, her dread of this secret increasing- "well, we heard about the lover's quarrel between Potter and Black. And, we decided it was time to, break up the dream team."

Lily's body felt weak and trembly, and her eyelids fluttered under the weight of Sev's admission. So, Sirius Black _hadn__'__t_ carved that irreverently-awful message into Sev's chest. Someone else had. And Sev had _let _them do it.

She shoved her chair backwards, and drew in great gulps of air, trying desperately to prevent herself from being sick all over the Hospital Wing's floor. Sev was staring at her, clearly puzzled by her reaction, but Lily didn't have time to assuage his fucking _bewilderment_. She was too busy trying to not throw up on him.

"Who."

"Who d'you think," he muttered. "Malfoy, obviously. And, before you get all equal rights-y on me, it had to be me. Nobody else would have been believable..."

Lily started laughing. It felt shrill and scratchy in her mouth, and Sev's whole face creased in concern. He was finally starting to see how upset she was. And, he wasn't sure _why_she was so upset. And, that was the worst part.

Her voice was shaky, and she couldn't look at Sev when she spoke. "You _let _Malfoy torture you, because you thought it would hurt Sirius and James? You just _let _him hurt you?"

"Shit, Lily." Sev threw himself backwards into his bed, wincing as his wounds stretched and stung. "Fuck me, it's not like Black _wouldn__'__t _have done something like this. So, why are you so mad about this?"

His eyes narrowed, and his lip curled up. "You just mad that I lied to you? That I made your precious Gryffin-queers fight?" Bitterness flashed in his voice, and pain coiled in the compressed corners of his lips. "Why do you care so much about them, _Evans?_"

He used James' nickname for her, instead of one of his own, and it made Lily's skin crawl, to hear James' joke in Sev's voice. She'd never before been utterly disgusted by her best friend, and she couldn't believe that he had done this to himself.

"I don't give a flying fuck about them, Severus Snape!" she nearly screamed, keeping her voice just low enough to keep Madam Pomfrey safely ensconced in her office. Sev inched backwards from the fury in her face and the shakiness of her voice; he looked horrified, as if this wasn't at all the way this was supposed to go.

"I couldn't care less if they all jumped off the Astronomy Tower, Sev," she whispered fiercely, shoving her face directly into his space. "I care about _you_. I _cannot _understand why you let yourself be hurt so fucking badly, just to prove something! I bet Malfoy didn't jump up and volunteer to have his chest be carved up!" She scrubbed her hands across her face and left them there, so she wouldn't have to look at Sev. "You _let _them hurt you. You _let _yourself be the, sacrificial lamb, or whatever. It's like you never think that you're worth it, that _you _are worth keeping safe." She rubbed the tears out of her eyes, and still didn't look at Sev. She could hear him breathing, hear him frantically forcing words together inside of his mind to combat her assertion, to make her calm down and stay with him. "We've been friends since we were nine years old, Sev. And still, I guess I just don't understand you."

Slowly, she leaned down and picked up her bag. Carefully, she slung it over her shoulder. Her whole body ached from her anger at Sev, from her horror at realizing just how little he actually thought of himself. She turned away from him, for the first time since they had come to Hogwarts; she turned away and left him in the Hospital Wing by himself. "I'm glad you're awake," she told the foot of his bed, and walked out of the room.

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><p>It took Lily nearly an hour to wander back to the Gryffindor Common Room, mostly because she kept losing track of where she was in the castle, and ended up staring at portraits and out windows for whole cloudy minutes.<p>

When she did arrive back at the Portrait Hole, and hoisted herself through, she nearly broke into hysterical laughter at the clear lines of demarcation that had been drawn throughout the room. James and Peter sat on one side of the Common Room, playing Exploding Snap and absolutely _not _looking at Sirius. Sirius sat on the other side of the Room, flirting with Marlene McKinnon and turning every few minutes to make sure that James was still not looking at him. Remus sat in the exact middle of his two best friends, and fiercely read his Transfiguration text. The Room was quiet, as if a lightning storm had just rolled through, and as Lily surveyed the Common Room, she wondered if she just shouldn't tell. If it would be easier on her, on Sev, on Filch and the Prefects and the 1st Years, if the Marauders never healed themselves.

She looked at each of them in turn. _Sirius __wasn__'__t __worth __it, __maybe._ She hated to admit this, but both Sirius and Sev might be lost to the influences of their families, might be too far gone to ever be pulled back. Lily wasn't sure that Peter was worth it, either, because he was so clearly enjoying his new, far more important position as James' best friend, and that was kind of.._wormy, _of him, to be glorifying in his friend's ruin.

_But, _she realized, _Remus __was __worth __it, __maybe; __as __much __as __he __hated __some __of __the __Marauder__'__s __antics, they loved him, and __he __loved __him, __and it was clear that __he __needed __them. _

And...she looked at James, whose face was drawn with this new integrity he'd suddenly decided to wear. _He __was __worth __it,_ she decided, because James Potter was nothing if not worthy, and assured of his own worth. And, as much as she raged at him for his insufferable cockiness, maybe it wasn't a bad thing, that he did value himself. That he did believe that he was worth something. Maybe, that was a very good thing.

She sighed, then forced a smile on to her face. "Oi, Potter!" she called across the Common Room, and James' head snapped up. He nearly threw himself out of his chair in her direction, and Lily laughed to see him look so silly. She beckoned at him, and he immediately started across the Room towards her. The whole House watched as he reached her, and then clearly panicked as he realized he had no idea what to do with his hands.

Lily smiled at him, and pointed out the still-open Portrait. "C'mon James," she murmured. "Let's go for a walk."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

_Towering_

James signed noisily, enjoying the way the loud _whoosh_ of his exhalation sounded in this silence of the Astronomy Tower. He was desperate to cut through the thick, cloying stillness of the Tower, which was so silent because Lily Evans, who had in the past 10 minutes mumbled her way through more sentences that she'd ever before said to James, had clearly run out of words, and James was completely unsure how to respond to Evans' furious outpouring.

Earlier that evening, back in the Common Room, James' whole body had _instantly_ moved when Evans had asked him to go for a walk with her; it was after curfew and she had the cutest little smirk on her face and even as James climbed out of the Portrait Hole he was already composing his story for Remus and Peter and...oh. _Well, maybe he'd tell the story really loud in the Common Room and hope that...oh, well, Evans probably wouldn't appreciate that very much, now would she?_ And actually, as James followed Evans through the shadowy corridors, keeping an ear cocked for Peeves and patrolling Prefects because Evans clearly lacked experience at moving stealthily through Hogwarts, James realized, maybe he didn't need to tell anyone this story. _Maybe the whole point of after-curfew walks with girls wasn't triumphantly telling the story afterwards to your cheering mates, but was the actual time spent with the actual girl..._

Lily had marched ahead as she led him to the Astronomy Tower, her back held perfectly straight, and while James hadn't been on nearly as many Tower trips as Sirius, he did know that the best ones rarely started with the girl almost-running away. Upon arrival at the entrance to the Tower, Lily had simply stepped inside; she hadn't let James open the heavy oak door for her, and hadn't seemed to care that he hadn't.

When James had stepped inside the dim, round room, he could barely see Evans' slender form all the way across the space; the red-head had dropped gracelessly to the floor, and sat huddled against the rough stone walls opposite the entrance. He'd still been standing just inside the door when she'd started to speak, but as her story went on, and her voice got lower and more broken, he'd slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting too- hunched over in the dark 15 feet away from Lily Evans.

Because, she'd told him, that it wasn't Sirius who'd carved that horrible message into Snivellus' scrawny chest; instead, it was Snivellus himself, helped (or maybe coerced, but that was Snivellus' fault now wasn't it, for being friends with such fucking creeps) by the Slytherin 7th Years, all in some plot to drive a wedge between James and his best friend. And if it hadn't been Lily Evans telling him this, James probably would have laughed at the painful stupidity of Snivellus Snape, and reveled in the fact that these fucking 7th Years thought he and Sirius were important enough to go through all this excruciating trouble to hurt them.

But, see, the problem is, that it wasn't someone else telling him this- it wasn't some other Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw or whoever, ready to laugh uproariously at how in the end the Slytherins clearly proved to be better at Snape-baiting than he or Sirius ever were. It was Evans who was talking, and she was probably betraying Sniv- _Snape_, in doing exactly this, and so as much as James knew he should be laughing he just couldn't figure out how or why this whole sad situation might be funny.

And he couldn't laugh, because Lily certainly hadn't laughed when she'd whispered "how could he just, _let_ them hurt him? How could he just take it?" James couldn't laugh because sometimes he saw that resignation that looked just like that in Sirius; saw that the eldest Black boy was used to taking the blame for something he didn't do; used to being hurt in ways that he didn't deserve. He couldn't laugh because James knew that the only reason that Sirius was not a raging Death Eater was because James had shown him that there was another way to be a Pureblood, another way to have a family. Snape wasn't so lucky, and so Snape, who might have been a Gryffindor with his best friend Lily was stuck in the dungeons while the Black heir who absolutely should have been there just...wasn't.

So, he couldn't laugh, and it was clear Lily was completely drained of words, and thus, the Tower was silent, and the silence stretched across the whole of the circular room, blanketing both teenagers as they sat opposite each other. _Ok, Potter_, he told himself, frustrated by the stillness and the sadness permeating the Tower and the girl huddled sadly across from him, _man the fuck up, and say something to her_.

He took a deep breath. "Hey, Evans?" He squinted through the gloom, waiting until Lily's head lifted up off her folded-up knees. "Why, why'd you tell me all this?" That was polite, and a good start, but what he actually meant was: _What the bloody fuck is wrong with Snivellus, that he would do this to himself?_ and _I'm so glad that I can be friends with Sirius again!_ but mostly _The first time I get you to come with me on a Tower trip, and you're sad and upset and far away and not at all how I wanted you to be. But look, I'm trying to be mature because that's what you need, and maybe if I get this right you'll let me bring you up here some other time, and there will be way less tears and way more of us being all over each other..._

Lily slowly released a shaky breath, and scrubbed her hands under her eyes; and even across the room, James could hear the harsh _whrsh_ her palms made against her face. That freaked him out just a tiny bit- so, almost without thinking, he stood up and crossed over to her. He plopped down next to her, as if it were natural, as if this whole evening and Lily's tears and James' pretension at maturity were natural and not utterly terrifying. Carefully, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and offered it to her. She took it and wiped her face, then dropped her hands back to her knees, and absent-mindedly ran her thumbs along the crooked black hem of James' handkerchief.

Gently, James laid his hand on top of hers, and turned the edge of the handkerchief, so she could feel the oversized knot holding the messy stitches in their crooked places. He smiled at her, aware that she couldn't see him, but wanting his voice to sound happy and gentle. "Whenever I misbehaved, when I was little, my mother would make me do stuff that forced me to sit still. So, I copied out her favorite poems and I memorized genealogy and, I hemmed handkerchiefs." He shook his head, remembering how effective that forced stillness had been, and how these punishments kept him behaving for whole days at a time. "My handwriting was ok, and I can tell you more about the Peverell line than you'd ever care about, but I was always shit at the handkerchiefs."

Lily snorted, and James smiled broadly. That wasn't a teary sound; she was laughing at his story. He squeezed her hands around his shitty handkerchief, and Lily leaned her head against his shoulder. James could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo, and for the millionth fucking time reminded himself to figure out what kind of flower it was, so he could buy her a whole armload the day she finally agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him.

"Thanks, James," she whispered. He felt her take a deep breath; her head inched forward into his neck, and the warmth of her exhalation across his throat made him thank Merlin that he was sitting down, and that it was dark, and that Lily's eyes weren't pointed at his lap.

"There's, um, nothing to thank me for, Evans," he murmured, needing desperately to shift his hips but afraid that if he moved even the slightest bit, this miraculous piece of magic that had caused Lily Evans to curl up next to him would end. "In fact, I should thank you! For, telling me that Sirius didn't do this! That he's not the degenerate that you always thought he was." James nudged her shoulder, and Lily chuckled grimly.

"Yeah, James, as much as this whole thing is so unbelievably fucked up, I am glad that, you know, it wasn't Sirius. That you get to forgive him for this, at least." Lily curled her shoulders closer to James' torso, and dropped her knees, so they rested on his thighs. "That's good, at least. So, um, aren't you going to go and find him?"

"Umm..." James made himself take a deep, slow breath before continuing. _You've got to calm down, you arse_, he told himself firmly. _For Merlin's sake, she can probably hear your fucking heartbeat_. "Umm, yeah, I'll tell him, in a bit. Maybe, though, he can squirm for a while longer, because, you know, it wasn't like it was real _difficult_ for me to believe that he'd done it, you know? But, uh, I've got to say, that you're more important." Of course, what he wanted to say was: _Yes, I love Sirius and I'm thrilled I get to be friends with him again, but Lily Fucking Evans is curled up next to me and if she moves like 4 inches to the left she'll be in my lap and if you think I'm going anywhere for anything less than Fiendfyre, you are irrevocably, utterly, barking mad._ That's what he would say to anyone who asked him, except if the person asking him was Lily because that whole rant was probably a bit much for her right now. Which was why he had gone with the first option, and stuttered at her about her importance.

"Hrmm..." Lily murmured softly, and James realized that every single part of his body that she was touching felt warm and glow-y and alive. _Holy shit, who knew that a girl could make you feel like this?_ he wondered vaguely. "Yeah," Lily continued, "that's what Sev said, too."

James' stomach lurched. The happy, glow-y and alive feelings flickered a bit. "Um, what's what he said? That...you're more important?"

Lily sighed. "Well, no, that's kind of the opposite of what he said, isn't it? With this whole let's-mutilate-myself-because-nobody-will-care thing? No, I meant, he said that the reason their trick worked is because you wouldn't have been surprised at all, if it actually had been Sirius."

James flinched. The back of his neck felt itchy and hot, and he wanted to leap to his feet and shove the fact that he had believed that Sirius _had_ tortured Snape as far away from himself as possible. He wanted to stuff his fingers in his ears and shake his head and run away from the furious certainty that had characterized his past 38 hours. The Slytherins' trick had worked only because James was easily able to believe the very worst about his best friend; because James had decided without reservation or hesitation, that Sirius had done this horrifically cruel thing.

"Fuuuck..." James whispered, and dropped his head backwards. It thunked solidly against the stone wall, and he felt Lily stiffen. He swallowed tightly. Just a little bit ago, she'd fallen apart, and he'd done such a good job at being a grown-up. Now, when he was teetering on the edge of horrified shame, maybe she might save him.

"Hey, Evans?" he murmured, and in response, she inched her knees into his lap. He dropped his right arm over her tucked-in shoulders, and felt her relax against him. "So, Sirius' parents? Well, they didn't make him, um, hem handkerchiefs, when he fucked up. As a little kid." James sighed. Sirius has never told him this, but James has seen the scars. "They might have made him copy genealogy, but, like, with a Blood Quill." James tapped the back of Lily's small hands, and she gasped. "And, he's got a bunch of seriously twisted cousins, who did a bunch of seriously twisted shit, and Sirius got blamed for a lot of it. Even when it wasn't his fault, just because he was the Heir, and he should've known better."

After 5 years of being best friends with Sirius Black, James understands that your childhood does an unbelievable amount to influence the kind of adult that you grow up to be. And Sirius absolutely would not want James to be saying any of this, to anybody, but _someone_ has to help James figure out how to help his best friend, and all lust and possible Hogsmeade dates aside, Lily Evans might be the perfect person to do it.

"It's like, he's learned, that people are going to blame him for stuff, even terrible stuff, even if he didn't actually do it. So, when I go tell him, that I know he didn't do that to Snape, he'll be so fucking happy. He won't even be mad at me, that I didn't believe him, until now. Like, it's what he expects." James shut his eyes. He could feel a tightness in his jaw and shoulders; all the anger that he'd directed at Sirius now was directed back at himself. "I don't know how to make him not be like that," he whispered, voicing his greatest fear for Sirius, to the girl who was his greatest struggle.

Lily reached up and grabbed both his hands in hers-James' badly-hemmed handkerchief tangled around their fingers but neither let go. "You know, James, you've already done more for Sirius, than the whole Black Family ever has. Because Sirius Black will never be a Death Eater. And that's completely because of you."

She turned her head so her lips were pressed against his neck. "Sirius Black is, a force of nature. And you, James Potter, you changed a force of nature."

James swallowed. There were words being said to him, nice words that he would love to think about and to remember, but right now, all that mattered in the whole world was that Lily Evans had her hands wrapped around his, her knees in his lap, and her lips on his neck in the dimness of the Astronomy Tower.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm so sorry for the time between updates- and I hope y'all enjoy this super long chapter! Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think! **


	13. Chapter 13

_Un-Pitched_

"Hey, Sirius," James sort of croaked his best friend's name, feeling strange to be calling Sirius by his first name, but he couldn't call him Padfoot, because right then James didn't feel much like Prongs, and he would never call him Black, and so 'Sirius' was a step, at least. The Black boy spun, his fringe lifting clean off his face with the quickness of his turn, baring his creased forehead, and his sad, worried eyes. It made James' stomach clench, to see that Sirius' face didn't automatically relax into a friendly grin when he realized who had hailed him; it made James' skin feel hot and too tight, to know that he was responsible for the pain on his best friend's face.

James crossed the corridor outside the Portrait Hole, smirking just a bit at the silence which had suddenly fallen over the groups of Gryffindors waiting and talking and lounging just outside their dormintory. The whole school knew about his and Sirius' fight, and the whole school knew what it meant, that James was suddenly talking to Sirius again.

But Sirius didn't even seem to notice that he was abruptly the center of everyone's attention; the whole of his focus was directed at James. He stood, hands held loosely at his sides, chin upturned in a way that he probably thought was defiant but was rather more anxious than it was threatening. _It's like he's waiting for me to shout at him, or hit him, _James realized grimly. _Like he expects me to hurt him. Like he's just been waiting for me to come after him _

James stopped, a few inches farther from Sirius than he would normally stand, but much closer than he'd been standing for the past week. He smiled broadly at his best friend, and slowly, Sirius' tightly-pressed lips lifted in a wondering, answering smile._ I'm not going to hit you, you stupid fuck, _James thought. _My last name's Potter, not Black, and it's time you figured out what that means. _

Sirius was gaping at him, his mouth still trapped in a happy half-smile, so James spoke first.

"So, d'you read, for History?"

Sirius's teeth snapped closed with an audible click. Several people giggled softly, and several others shushed them. James straightened his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows just the tiniest bit, so only Sirius could see it.

The creases in Sirius' face smoothed away, and a trace of color flushed across his pale cheeks. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Ha. Do I ever read for History, Jimbo?"

James nodded, as if he hadn't known exactly what Sirius would say. What he always said when asked whether or not he'd done the homework for a particular class. He took a deep breath. This was turning out to be both so much easier, and also so much harder, than he had thought it would be. "'So, not much point in going, eh?"

Sirius laughed. He threw back his head and let his shoulders roll and clapped his hands over his stomach, and roared with laughter. "Is there ever, much point, in going?" he gasped.

Slowly, the knot in James' stomach began to unclench. Clearly, Sirius had snapped out of his fear-fugue, and was playing to the growing audience of Gryffindors. He had immediately jumped back into the role of Padfoot-and-Prongs, and was obviously thrilled to be allowed to play again. James hadn't seen such pure, unadulterated happiness on Sirius' face since the night when he and Sirius had papered the school with those stupid diary entries. It's a little bit worrying, James knew, that so much of Sirius' happiness is dependent on his place in James' life, but that's not the Sirius-issue we're addressing today, so let's get through the girly fucking mess this particular conversation was going to be, and we'll deal with that later.

James gestured down the corridor, toward the thin windows cut into the stone. He grinned at Sirius. "Shall we?" A tiny tremor rattled across Sirius' face, darkening his eyes and making his throat tremble. It looked like Sirius was, for just an instant, wondering if he _shouldn't _say go with James; if he shouldn't skive off class and be with the best friend who hadn't spoken to him in a week; shouldn't instantaneously say yes to the boy who'd so badly misjudged him. James was staring fiercely at Sirius, slightly frightened by the silent war raging in his best friend's mind, so James missed the stupid-happy smile on Remus' face, the fake-swooning of the Gryffindor 5th Year girls, the uncontrolled fury blazing in Peter's small eyes. In this second, he was only interested in Sirius, and in Sirius' answer.

The Black boy shook his whole body, the way a puppy might shake off water droplets, and grinned madly at James. "Of course, Prongs," he said easily.

* * *

><p>They walked slowly out to the Quidditch Pitch, half-aware that Sprout had a class of 3rd Years in the Greenhouses, and that McGonagall's office window looked right out onto their path, but in the end, supremely uncaring of whether or not they might get caught. James kept his voice pitched low, and tried his hardest to keep talking about the upcoming Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match, pretending with all his might that he was simply picking his (unofficial) co-captain's brains for ways to beat the superbly-trained Ravenclaw Chasers. Sirius was (perhaps unsurprisingly) excellent at coming up with unconventional Quidditch plays and plans and schemes, and quite a lot of team's success was a direct result of Sirius' creative formations. Over the years, James had made sure to tell him this, to help Sirius become more aware of his own value, but now, listening to Sirius talk glibly about Quidditch, such praise felt dry and insipid in his mouth.<p>

As they walked, getting ever closer to the stands -the place where James had promised himself that he would finally apologize to Sirius for being _such _a shit to him for the past week- James felt his eyes begin to itch and to his face to burn.

When James had called his name, Sirius had turned to him, maybe a little bit afraid, but willing to take whatever James was going to give him, to suffer whatever James had decided to do to him. _And was that because he's my best friend, and he's done terrible shit and I've forgiven him? _James wondered frantically. _Or_, and this thought made him swallow tightly against the lump of furious shame in his throat, _was it because the people he loves best always end up pissed at him when he doesn't deserve it, and hurt him, just because they can? And, because, in the end, no matter what, that's what he expects of me, too? _

When they reached the Pitch, Sirius turned toward the broomshed, but James pointed up at the stands, to a patch of sunlight falling on a few rows of seats between the tall towers that ringed the stadium. "Let's sit up there, Padfoot," he murmured, and tried to smile. "See how it feels to be one of the, unlucky bastards, who don't get to play." Laughing, Sirius bounded up the steps, threw himself down on the splintery seats. James followed more slowly.

He dropped himself into the row in front of Sirius' and turned in the seat, so he could look up at his best friend. He sighed. _Now or never, James, _he told himself, hating how childish and nervous he felt. _This is your best friend. Fucking act like it_.

"Hey, um, Padfoot," he said. "Look, I'm so, sorry, mate. I can't-"

Sirius waved at hand absently at him, and shook his head. "Don't worry, Prongs. I'm just glad, you're talking to me again, you know? It's fine." Sirius pointed to the golden goal hoops at the end of the pitch. "So, I think, if we can get MacDougall and Feldman to-"

James slammed his fist onto the back of his seat. "Shit, Sirius, please, _listen to me_," he begged. Carefully, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Sirius' calf, and held on to his friend. He wanted to wrap his arms around Sirius, to open himself up and let his guts pour onto the ground, to pull his own heart from his throat and hand it to the Black boy, to try to begin to apologize for how he had behaved for the past week. But that would be extremely weird and also extremely melodramatic, so instead he held onto Sirius' ankle and concentrated fiercely on not digging his nails into Sirius' shin.

"You need to understand, Padfoot, how sorry I am, and how, bad I feel. I should never've thought you'd do something like that. It wasn't fair of me, to think that way about you. I'm so, so sorry."

"Prongs," Sirius leaned forward, letting his hair fall over one eye. "I'm Sirius Black. I do fucked up shit all the time. And," he shrugged, "I lie. A lot. It's no wonder, that you didn't believe me." Sirius smiled his most charming smile, and James' heart fell, just a little bit. It was _not _ok that Sirius thought that it _was_ ok for people to just expect the worst out of him, and to blame him offhand and for no reason. James rubbed his free hand over his eyes, and massaged his temples. _Shit, maybe Lily was right,_ he mused wearily. _Maybe Sirius doesn't value himself just as much as Snape doesn't. Maybe...oh. Maybe this was exactly the right track._

"D'you know how I figured it out, Padfoot?" he asked, and Sirius shook his head. "Lily told me. She told me that Snape and the Slytherins planned it all out between the lot of them, and _they _carved that shit into Snape's chest." He squeezed Sirius' calf. "So we would keep fighting -maybe so that we would never _stop _fighting."

Sirius chuckled softly. That was his real laugh, James knew; that was how Sirius actually laughed, when he didn't feel like he was performing for an audience, when he wasn't trying to convince everyone around him that he was having just the best fucking time. "What a fucking moron, Prongs," he said. James nodded slowly.

"No shit, Padfoot." He looked up at Sirius, and raised his brows. "And Lily, she's real pissed at him, that he would just let his friends hurt him like that, because they asked him to. That he just took it, because he didn't think that he deserved any better."

"Oh." Sirius swallowed, and turned away from James. The Black boy looked off across the Pitch, and when he spoke, his voice was low and angry. "Yeah, but, I didn't let you carve anything into my fucking chest, Prongs."

"You as good as did, Sirius," James snapped. Sirius flinched, and James wished he could reel those words, in that tone, back into his hasty mouth, but whatever. He'd said them, and now they could deal with them. "You did let me act like a complete arse to you for a week. You should have beat the shit out me, for all the things I said about you. How I ignored you. For what I was thinking about you."

Sirius sighed. "I'm Sirius Black," he said, but this time, the phrase was hollow and sad. "It happens, Prongs. I fuck up, and people are mad at me. And," he paused, and absently ran his fingers through his hair. "And," he continued, "sometimes I maybe haven't fucked up right then, but I've done plenty of other shit, that I deserve for people to be mad at me for."

"I'm not them, Sirius," James whispered helplessly. "I'm not your family." He could feel Sirius' muscle under his hand grow taut but he kept talking, because that's what they were all the way out here for, weren't they?

Sirius laughed, but they both knew it was forced. "Oh, I know, Prongs." He leaned forward and mock-punched James' jaw. "You Potters have been diluted by all your Mudblood-loving, you know. We Blacks've still kept our pure, evil, good looks."

"Look, Sirius, you need to understand, there's nothing you can do, that I won't forgive you. And it's never ok, for me to be mad at you, when you don't deserve it." James looked right into Sirius' eyes. _Why the fuck not? _he asked himself._ Might as well be hung for a dragon as for a Kneazle, yeah? _"It's never ok, for people to hurt you, even people that you love. It's never ok, Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes, but when he spoke, there was ice in his voice. "You didn't hurt me, James," he stated flatly.

"Yeah," James agreed. "Maybe, in like, the grand, universal scheme I didn't hurt you, or whatever, but you definitely didn't deserve it how I acted. And you're right, Sirius, I didn't really _hurt _you. But, they do."

James bit his lip. For Merlin's sake, this was awkward. "You can't, let them trample on you. Sirius, you have-"

"Fuck, Prongs!" Sirius' voiced cracked. "I fight Slytherins, fuck, I fight _everyone_, all the fucking time. I _never _back down. I always stand up for myself-"

"You don't stand up for yourself, against me. Or, against Moony. Fuck, you don't stand up for yourself against McGonagall." James slowly shook his head. "You don't stand up for yourself against people that you care about."

Sirius threw himself back in his seat, and James could feel him trembling. The sun had shifted, and their seats were now in the gloamy shade of twilight. Sirius kept his head tilted back, but he didn't yank his ankle out of James' grip, so that was a step, maybe.

"You know what happens, James? If I stand up to them?"

James' jaw clenched. He didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to hear this, _he fucking didn't want to hear this_, but Sirius wanted to say it, so James was going to listen.

"No, I don't, Sirius."

"N-nothing, nothing good. Nothing that I like. Nothing that doesn't make me feel like absolute shit. Like I never, ever want to do it again."

James took a deep breath. He felt like he should be going carefully, but this was Padfoot and he was Prongs and neither of them was anything like _careful_, so fuck it. "I think, Padfoot, when somebody tells you, over and over, that you're worthless, or shitty, it's hard not to believe it. And, when the people that are telling you that are people that you care about, and you love, it's even harder not to believe it."

Sirius nodded slowly. "Maybe," he said finally.

"That's what I did to you this week, Sirius, and I'm really, really sorry for it."

Slowly, Sirius raised his head, and looked James in the eyes. The Black boy's face was drawn and sad, but his eyes no longer held the haunted, hunted look he'd worn for the past week.

"I know, Prongs." Sirius smiled finally, fully. "I know."

* * *

><p>"Think we missed <em>all<em> of dinner?" Sirius asked as they walked back to the castle, picking their way across the wet grass as the last rays of sunlight peeked over the mountains.

"Probably," James told him resignedly. "Oh, shit, Padfoot, I have to tell you all about what happened Lily! And, I know you just forgave me and shit, but get ready to get mad at me all over again, mate."

"What?" Sirius smirked.

"Yeah, mate, I'm so sorry, but we have _got _to stop picking on Snivellus..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, I'm so sorry for being MIA for so long! I kind of lost the thread of this story for a while, but I've totes picked it up again, and have lots and lots of stuff planned out and outlined, and to make up for it, here is a super long chapter, full of Sirius/James bromance! **

**Hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think! **


	14. Chapter 14

_Roar_

"You know that I'm super excited for you, right, Prongs?" Sirius muttered through clenched teeth, as if he was trying to convince himself of something, his dark eyes glowering as he watched a scrawny boy carefully pick his way across the icy flagstones of the Courtyard. He gripped the folds of his winter cloak in his fists as if he was struggling mightily to hold himself back. Across the Courtyard, the scrawny figure nearly slipped, but managed to catch himself just in time by windmilling his arms around his head.

"Araghh!" Sirius shouted suddenly, and flung his hands up in the air. His whole body vibrated with anticipation as he lunged towards the unsteady boy- but then, as if an invisible leash had snapped, he stopped, and let himself fall face forward into the snow. Groaning furiously (and theatrically), the Black boy burrowed himself into the piles of snow heaped around the Courtyard, and tossed handfuls of powder above his prone body, making his own personal avalanche.

_He looks like he's making a snow angel,_ James mused, idly watching Sirius flop gracelessly in the snow at his feet. _Well, clearly, minus the halo. And the dress. And maybe if the snow angel is currently fighting off some other mythological creature…_

"For fuck's sake, Prongs," Sirius was sprawled face down in the snow, but he kept his voice raised, so James and the other Marauders (and most of the Gryffindors huddled in their section of the Courtyard) could hear about Sirius' heroics. "Did you see that? He was about to slip-one tiny snowball, probably not even a jinxed one-and he would have _dropped_." Sirius put his hands over his head, as if he couldn't bear the shame of his inaction. "I can't believe that I just didn't hit Snivellus with a snowball. What's wrong with me? _Fuck_, Prongs…"

James, like most of the Gryffindors standing in the Courtyard, shivering in the first snow fall of the year, was absolutely roaring with laughter. Sirius' little performance, even though it hadn't involved anything as funny as a giant red-and-gold snowball chasing Snape around the Castle, for example, was nevertheless hysterical. His aborted lunge at Snape seriously looked like if a leash had yanked him back into his yard, and now he lay in the snow, snarling and snorting like a pissed-off dog who'd just missed biting the Postman.

And it was heroic, James knew, because Sirius' plunge into the snow essentially represented years of bad, Snape-hating habits fighting against his loyalty to James, who'd asked his best friend to stop picking on Snape. There was a leash, but it was metaphorical leash, and Sirius was actually the one holding the end, as he slowly permitted himself to develop a conscience. And it was heroic, although maybe merely not being a bully wasn't that impressive; but actually, it was, because it was Sirius finally learning some restraint.

* * *

><p>"See, it's like potty-training," James had whispered to Moony, the first time that Sirius had refrained for an entire day from doing anything nasty to Snape, and was consequently slumped in a corner of the Common Room, a Butterbeer clutched in his hand and a sulky pout on his face. "Get him to do something that everyone else seems able to do, and," he pointed to the Butterbeer, "give him a reward, and lots of praise and shit."<p>

Moony had smirked at him, and shaken his head slowly. "Not exactly, Prongs," he'd whispered. "It's actually more like _puppy_-training, you know?"

* * *

><p>Laughing softly, James sank to his knees next to Sirius' prone form. The Black boy did deserve some praise for his restraint, and a graceful way to get up from dramatic face-down pose, and James could easily supply both.<p>

"I know you're excited for me, Padfoot, mate," he whispered, pitching his voice so that only Sirius could hear him. "I know you're doing your best to help me with Lily, and I'm so proud of you." Sirius lifted his head from the snow, gloriously happy with James' compliment, but clearly unsure how to respond; knowing that such a sentimental sentence needed a manly retort, but maybe unable to bring himself to shit all over James' kindness.

James grinned at his best friend. _Encouragement, and a graceful way up out of the snow._ Surreptitiously, he gathered a handful of snow, and leaned closer to Sirius. Deliberately raising his voice, he addressed the remaining Gryffindors in the Courtyard. "You're doing a bang-up job, Padfoot, really. And here's your reward: I'm not Snape."

Perplexed, Sirius raised himself up on his elbows, and stared at James. "No shit, Prongs. You dress better, and you're richer…you're certainly about as ugly, though."

James shrugged. "Oh, of course. Except, here's the thing- you can hit me back." And with that, James shoved his handful of snow into Sirius' face and down his collar, rubbing the icy particles into Sirius' bare neck.

"Fuck! Prongs!" Sirius snarled, and rolled away from James, frantically brushing at his chest and neck. Gasping with laughter, James shot to his feet and sprinted away from the doubled-over Sirius. Ten feet away, he paused, and watched as his best friend gathered two handfuls of snow, and jumped to his feet. "You're dead, Prongs," Sirius called amiably, and James, the corners of his mouth stretched tight by a stupidly-big grin, shut his eyes. He was ready to take a face full of snow if it helped his best friend learn to not pick on weaker kids; if it helped ensure that a certain red-head continued to smile at him over the breakfast table. Two could play at this let's-be-heroes game. It wasn't all that hard.

* * *

><p><em>Oooohhhh<em>… The groan echoed through the Great Hall as various students raised hands clutching pieces of toast, pointing at the obsidian owl soaring around the room. _Someone's got a Howler_…the whole room seemed to announce, and everyone looked around at the various school trouble-makers, to see if any of them looked particularly nervous. James knew it wasn't for him (his parents had never sent him a Howler- they preferred to shout at him face-to-face) and he didn't think it was for Sirius, since he couldn't think of something the Black boy had recently done which might merit parental reprimand. In fact, if anything, this Howler definitely shouldn't be for Sirius, since he'd been so restrained lately. _Seriously._

The owl swooped toward the Slytherin table, and James, and the rest of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, relaxed. Moony began cutting up his French toast, and James casually snagged one of the perfect squares, ruining Remus' careful, piecemeal order. "Mr. Potter," Remus scolded, adopting a high-pitched tone unfortunately remniscent of their new Herbology professor. "Must you? Every day? Really-"

"Shit." Sirius hadn't relaxed when the Howler-carrying owl turned towards the Slytherin table; hadn't recommenced scarfing his breakfast; hadn't joined in James' teasing of Remus. And now, as the obsidian owl bore the faintly-smoking letter back towards the Gryffindor table, Sirius swore again. "_Shit." _He ducked his head, and James could see him gnawing his bottom lip.

"Padfoot," James whispered harshly, now also tracking the progress of the owl, "is that for you? What'd you do?"

But Sirius didn't answer, and James felt his blood run cold in his veins. The Black boy looked terrified-his eyes were wide and frantic and his hands clenched and unclenched around the napkin twisted in his lap. His breathing was shallow, and he looked as if he might fall forward into his pancakes. Carefully, James reached out and put his hand on Sirius' back, hoping to try to restore a little bit of equilibrium to his friend. Sirius flinched.

Across the table, James could see the concern etched in Remus' grave face, and just as the owl landed gracefully on the table in front of Sirius, Remus leaned forward and whispered fiercely: "if that thing does what it did last time, I'm dunking it in the oatmeal. Deal?" James nodded, and both boys flexed their shoulders, ready to knock the Howler away from Sirius' face if it came at him, already braced for the shrill scream of his mother's voice.

But this Howler wasn't from his mother. With careful, jerky precision, the Howler leapt from the owl's talons and halted at Sirius' eye level. Slowly the flap peeled itself open, and a deep, sonorous voice echoed from the depths of the envelope.

"I CANNOT IMAGINE WHY, FOR EVEN ONE INSTANT, YOU WOULD THINK THAT WE WOULD PERMIT YOU TO MISS YOUR COUSIN'S ENGAGEMENT GALA, TO SPEND CHRISTMAS WITH HALF-BLOOD SCUM."

James saw Remus swallow tightly at "half-blood scum," but this Howler from Orion Black hadn't yet shown any of the violent tendencies of his wife's Howlers, so maybe this little parental fracas would leave only emotional wounds.

"YOU WILL BE ON THE PLATFORM WITH YOUR BROTHER WHEN WE ARRIVE, AND YOU WILL BE PREPARED TO ANSWER FOR YOUR OUTRAGEOUS BEHAVIOR THIS TERM."

A tiny tremor ran through Sirius at that, and James wanted nothing more for Christmas than to pack Sirius up in a truck and mail him to Moony's and know that his two best friends were having a gloriously holiday together, half-blood and scumminess notwithstanding.

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?" The Howler demanded, inching closer to Sirius' glazed-over eyes, and James looked at Remus, nonplussed. "Can Howlers hear you?" he whispered across the table, and Remus shrugged.

"Dunno, Prongs," he answered. Carefully, keeping his tie out of the jam and the tray of bacon, Remus leaned towards Sirius. "Padfoot, mate," he murmured. "I think it wants an answer."

Sirius stirred, and flicked his eyes around the breathless Great Hall. James could see Sirius take in the rapt expressions and the titillated students, and could see the exact second when Sirius decided that being a rebel is way sexier than being a gormless little victim. _Oh, fuck, Padfoot, please don't piss it off..._

Sirius raised his head and squared his shoulders. He stared at the blood-red letter, and lifted a haughty brow. "Go fuck yourself," he told the letter, brightly.

Almost as if it was anticipating this, the Howler jerked itself backwards then suddenly sprang forwards. With a noise like a heavy book slamming against a table, the Howler collided with Sirius' jaw. The Black boy was thrown backwards over the bench and landed with a bone-jarring thump on the stone floor in between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Most of the female population of the Great Hall gasped, and out of the corner of his eye, James could see McGonagall standing up at the Head Table, pulling her wand from her sleeve.

Sirius leapt to his feet, clearly shaking the fog of a concussion out of his head, and faced the letter again. "GO FUCK YOURSELF," he told it a second time, just as brightly, and James wanted to reach out and shake some common sense, some self fucking protection into his best friend. _Sometimes, Padfoot, _James thought frantically, _sometimes the fight just isn't fucking worth it. Sometimes there's nobody to impress and no point and it's ok to just sit down. _

Shaking with rage, the Howler dashed itself towards Sirius' face. James closed his eyes.

"FINITE INCANTATUM!" The shout echoed in the Great Hall, driving away the final reverberations of the Howler's crunching collision with Sirius' head, and James ripped his eyes open to see McGonagall standing in the aisle in front of the Head Table, wand outstretched. The Howler fell harmlessly to the floor in front of Sirius, still smoking faintly, and Sirius casually picked up his goblet of orange juice and dumped it on the still-fiery letter. A great wave of smoke shot up and Sirius leaned away from it, his trademark smirk marred by the already-purpling swelling on his jaw.

Sirius turned towards McGonagall and bowed to her, formally, and just a tiny bit of the tension in James' shoulders drained away with McGonagall's graceful nod.

She smiled tightly at Sirius, but it was thin-lipped and rather grim. "Thank you, Mr. Black," she said, lifting her head so that her voice carried throughout the whole of the Great Hall. "For yet again demonstrating that courage and simply not-giving-up are perhaps the same thing. And," she paused, and nodded again. "That no matter your surname, you _belong _in Gryffindor."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think! **


	15. Chapter 15

_Holidays Horribilis _

Hey, Moony," James murmured, as he watched Remus hoist his overstuffed bag through the Portrait Hole and climb into the Gryffindor Common Room. Immediately, Remus' head swiveled until he spotted James' shadowy form hunched in a chair as far from the fireplace as James could possibly get. James smirked broadly to himself as Remus began to slowly wend his way through the overturned end tables and stacks of papers and books and hurrying Gryffindor students, as their classmates endeavored to finish packing before the Tower party that night.

Moony knew where to find James because this out of the way spot was where the two of them always sat whenever they had something important to (discreetly) discuss; when their important conversations required no discretion, they of course held them in the middle of the Common Room, because it's always tremendously enjoyable to watch everyone attempt to eavesdrop on an (ostensibly) fascinating Marauder conversation.

But the thing was, (and this is SO cool) Moony had heard James whisper his name as he entered the Common Room over the dull roar of their fellow Gryffindors celebrating that it was nearly the Christmas holidays (just one more day!), and from more than 40 feet away. Its a pretty impressive trick, and it certainly comes in handy, and the other Marauders are careful to frequently tell Moony how freakin' cool his super-senses are. To remind him that as clearly and utterly fucking miserable as being a werewolf obviously was, the super-hearing and smell that accompanied Moony's furry little problem maybe weren't so terrible.

It takes Moony several whole minutes to cross the chaos of the Common Room to James' dim little corner, and James is beyond thrilled that he gets to watch Remus be a Prefect as the sandy-haired boy makes his way towards him. Well, thrilled that he gets to watch Remus _reluctantly_ be a Prefect. See, at any other time, Remus would have taken deep, grave pleasure in reminding First Years of the Express' departure time, and helping out 2nd and 3rd years who were struggling to cram all their clothing into their trunks. It makes Remus so happy, each and every day, that Dumbledore trusted him enough to grant him the prefect-ship; it gives Remus hope, that maybe other people outside of Hogwarts will also trust him someday, regardless of his, _um_, issue.

So, as much as James can sometimes get frustrated by Remus' bloody commitment to the school rules, James does understand why Remus is no longer thrilled by (overt) Marauder mischief. James does understand Remus' feelings, and yes, ok, Padfoot and Wormtail, you fuckers, so maybe that makes him the _sensitive_ one, but, whatever.

Fine. So James is _sensitive_ and Moony, regardless of his thickly-scarred skin, is fucking sensitive, but this is why it is James and Moony who have secret corner-of-the-Common-Room meetings about the state of the Marauders, because it is James and Moony who have the emotional wherewithal to realize when there's a fucking problem. Sorry, Peter and Sirius, that you're too dense or emotionally traumatized, or whatever, but sometimes people have feelings and they want to fucking talk about them and they want to not be stepped all over when they do. So fuck you both very much.

* * *

><p>Suddenly, Remus is standing before him, and James smiles up at him, supremely glad to see his best friend. As much as James loves the constant cacophony that is Sirius, Remus' calm and collected tranquility is also highly enjoyable, albeit in a different way. And maybe, (though James would jump off the Astronomy Tower without his broom before he would ever tell Sirius this) maybe if James acted more like Moony and less like Sirius, he might have more luck at making Lily fall in love with him. I mean, Sirius' madcap flirtatiousness has gotten him more snogs in stairwells and fucks in empty classrooms than probably any boy in Hogwarts' history, and that's just great. But the girls that Sirius snogs aren't clamoring to be taken home to Grimmauld Place and introduced to Sirius' family (maybe that's no surprise) but what's more- they don't expect him to do it.<p>

(Because, James has slowly -excruciatingly slowly- learned that girls may gladly snog dangerous boys in broom cupboards, but they don't –at least, the smart ones don't- get married to them. And Lily Evans is nothing if not smart, and James has never thought her inclined to do any secret closet-snogging. In fact, he's never seen her snog _anyone_, but he imagines that if she ever did find a boy worthy of snogging, she wouldn't hide him away in a broom cupboard. So, as much fun as Sirius has fucking secretly in broom cupboards, James thinks maybe he'd rather proudly hold Lily's hand in the corridors -to show the world they were together, and that he was a boy _worth_ taking a risk on.)

Sighing wearily, Remus unfurled himself from his unwieldy school-bag, and dropped himself into the chair opposite James.

"H'llo, Jameson," he said softly in greeting.

James smirked. "Moons."

Still sprawled in his chair, Moony stretched hugely, arching his back and shoulders and using the bigness of the motion to hide the fact that he was scanning their corner of the Common Room for eavesdroppers and gossips. Clearly satisfied that they were alone -at least, as alone as they could get in a maelstrom of their giddy classmates- Remus nodded grimly at James. _Moony looks sad, _James realized, _and tired, and worried and not at all like a bloke who's about to go home for three weeks of Christmas holidays. _

_But Moony _always _looks sad and tired, _his brain (because James Charles Potter would never admit to having anything so adult as a _conscience_) reminded him snidely. _He always looks all pinched and slightly pissed off and you can never tell if Remus' constant low-level anxiety is a result of the Wolf, or if the Wolf is simply a convenient excuse for something that's maybe even harder to explain than lycanthropy. _

"Where is he?" Moony asked softly, and James cringed, suddenly reminded of why he and Moony were huddled in a corner of the Common Room, rather than sprinting up the tunnel to Honeydukes' cellar, arms laden with provisions for the Tower party that night. _Right. Let's see if we can deal with this shit, _he told himself, _and maybe if we pace ourselves nicely we can wrap it up by addressing some of Moony's pretty much constant anxieties, and then round out the night by finally finding a girl for Peter._ (Obviously, James would _never_ admit to having a conscience, but if someone held a wand to his throat, he might gasp out that for some fucking reason, his conscience (or whatever) had red hair and gleaming white skin and sometimes talked to him in such a gravely disappointed way it made him ache to be a better man, for her. Uh, for _it_.)

James shrugged one shoulder towards the staircase leading up to the dormitories. "He's upstairs. He's not packing, or anything. He's just...sitting on his bed, talking to Pete about exactly how many girls he's going to get with tonight." James shook his head slowly. "It's kinda creepy, Moony. He's acting like he doesn't care, but it's so fucking clear that he's just pretending as hard as he can, but..." He paused, and took a deep breath. If saying this to Moony was proving to be impossible, how the fuck was he going to say it to Sirius?

"What d'you think he'll do, Prongs, if we go up there, and talk to him about it? About what's going to happen to him? About," and now, Moony trailed off too, clearly uncomfortable, and uncertain, and hating it.

"Shit, Prongs." Moony scrubbed his hands over the back of his neck. "He asked me if he could come home with me for Christmas, and of course I said yes! I thought he'd asked his parents! I didn't think some fucking vicious Howler would come roaring in for him!" Moony absently rubbed his jaw, and James knew he was thinking about the florid bruise that arced across Sirius' face, still raw and swollen, even a day after the fact.

"I mean," and now Moony's voice turned bitter, and the corners of his lips snarled up. "I mean, I get that I'm just _half-blood scum_, and I get that my whole house could probably fit into his foyer and shit, but, you know, no one's ever gonna Cruciate me in said foyer, so I guess, fundamentally, Christmas at my house is a lot fucking better than his."

Shit. Moony was pissed. Well, maybe James couldn't fix the Christmas celebration that Sirius was going home to, but he could fix this. "Moony, mate, this isn't your fault! It's Sirius' family, we know they're psychotic...shit, I'm surprised _Finite _shut the thing off! This is just what they do, and-"

But Moony was shaking his head furiously, and looked, if anything, _more _anguished now than he had before James began his little speech. "No, James, that's not good enough. Oh-it's-just-his-crazy-family isn't going to work. Fuck, it shouldn't work, _ever._" Moony closed his eyes tightly and exhaled slowly, like he was trying his hardest to keep his temper under control. _This_, James' fucking Lily-conscience told him angrily, _this is why he looks so sad and worried_ _and frustrated. He wants to _help_ Sirius, rather than chalk it all up to fate and move on. Shit, James, put on your grown-up pants and fucking help him. _

Slowly Moony opened his eyes. James could clearly see the anguish in Moony's face, could feel the tension in his muscles; he imagined it probably felt like the splintering headache that sat behind his own eyes, or like the cold tightness of his own limbs.

"Prongs," Moony whispered. "We have to do something. We, need to make him _say _something, to _someone. _He can't go back there. He just...he seriously cannot go back."

* * *

><p>"Of course I'm going home, Moons," Sirius told them, laughingly. He sprawled off the edge of the bed, watching them, upside-down and bemusedly, and James and Remus sat stiffly on James' bed, and tried to be serious, with Sirius.<p>

Peter had met them on the stairs as they had slowly walked up towards the 5th Year dormitory. His ears had been red and his normally placid face had been a bit, _bitter_, maybe? But, James didn't have enough brain-space to deal with Peter's hurt feelings or whatever at this particular second, so he didn't ask. As he passed them on the stairs, Peter had called out "he's all yours, gents," and Moony had shouted after him, asking him where he was going. Peter's happy yell about party supplies and the Cloak and Honeydukes echoed up the stairs, and ok. _Maybe this was a good thing, _James thought, guiltily. _Maybe it's good that Pete's not here for this. He sometimes brings out the worst, in Sirius..._

But, even without Peter, Sirius was being (and is this a fucking surprise to anyone?) downright recalcitrant. He was lounging almost entirely off the edge of his unmade bed, sprawled upside-down and ostensibly relaxed, watching James and Remus. And _don't we just look like right idiots, _James mused. _Trying to pretend we're adults and shit. Like we've a single fucking clue as to how to address this._

"Of course I'm going home," Sirius repeated. "Clearly, I'd wanted to go to Moony's, but plans've changed. It's fine."

If James hadn't know Sirius for five years, he might have believed the relaxed posture, and the stupid grin, and the lie that fell easily from his laughing mouth. But it was a lie, and it was so fucking obvious to James that Sirius was lying; so obvious that instead of laughing what he really wanted to be doing was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Sirius," James said softly, and almost imperceptibly, Sirius flinched.

"Prongsie, enough already, how about we move on to something more interesting-"

"For fuck's sake, Sirius, shut up!"

Both Sirius and James jumped when Remus shouted -somewhat because he rarely shouted, but mostly because he only swore when he was super agitated, and super serious. James smiled to himself, just a little bit. Clearly, as much as Sirius did not want to talk about this any more, Moony was about to make this a big fucking deal.

Sirius, perhaps impressed by the shouting or the swearing, slowly sat up, and stared at his furious, red-faced best friend. He opened his mouth, perhaps to placate, or perhaps to tease, but Remus spoke right over the beginnings of Sirius' joke.

"I can't believe you did this to me, Sirius. I cannot believe that you would put me in this position." Sirius looked shocked, as if this wasn't the tack he was expecting at all, but Moony clearly didn't have time to deal with Sirius' bewilderment. "You LIED to me. I specifically asked you if your parents said if you could come to my house for the holidays, and you told me _yes_. That they'd said _yes." _Moony pointed to the swollen purple bruise that arced across Sirius' jaw, looking no better even a day later. "I think it's pretty clear, you bleater, that they didn't fucking say yes. Which means: you lied to me."

Sweet Merlin, James realized. Moony was _pissed. _Sirius was the one who got the bruise from this whole incident, but it might be Moony who ended up with the scar.

Sirius sat at the very edge of his bed, the very picture of contrition. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, and he couldn't look Remus in the eye. As much as Remus was incontrovertibly right, James had never seen Sirius look so regretful.

"I'm sorry, Moony," he mumbled, and James' raw dropped in shock. He gaped incredulously at Moony, who looked similarly gobsmacked. Sirius _never _apologized. In fact, in five years of knowing the bloke, James could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Sirius say that, and actually _be _sorry. Like, "I'm sorry, First Year boy, but it appears that I've just set your pile homework on fire," and "I'm sorry, girl-that-I'm-currently-fucking, but I've completely forgotten your name" didn't count, because Sirius said shit like that constantly. But nonetheless, here was this: a true apology, driven by true remorse. Shit. Maybe Sirius Black was finally growing up.

A happy smile spread across Remus' face. There was a lot more to this conversation, but it looked like Moony was content to end it right there; as if asking for anything more from Sirius tonight might be too much for him.

* * *

><p>"Remus? REMUS!" someone suddenly shrieked up the stairs, and Remus immediately leapt off James' bed and dashed over to the door. Yanking it open, Remus stuck his head out onto the landing, and even across the dormitory, James could hear shouts and bangs and crashes echoing in the Common Room. "Remus!" The shriek came again, and James recognized the overly high-pitched wail of Delia Harmon, the 6th Year Prefect. "Remus! They're all dueling! Help me!"<p>

Groaning, Remus spun from the door back towards the beds. "We're not through, Padfoot," he warned, but the mock sternness of his voice was so friendly, and so quintessentially _Moony_, it was obvious that he was no longer angry. That instead he was proud of Sirius; proud of their conversation and its clear resolution. Grinning, Remus sprinted out of the room, and as the door swung shut behind him, Sirius slowly lowered himself back down onto the edge his bed. He didn't look at James.

_Remus had his say_, James thought at Sirius. _Doesn't mean that everything's been said, Padfoot. _He straightened his spine. Remus had acted like a grown-up during this ridiculous confrontation; now James could too.

"Sirius. That was horrifically unfair, to Remus' parents. They can't take it. His mum's a Muggle, and they've no money or connections. What would you have done, fuck -what would they've done, if your parents had shown up on their front step on Boxing Day, to bring you home?" James shook his head; Sirius wasn't watching him or anything, but it felt like a grave headshake was required nonetheless. "They're not able to handle, that kind of heat. From your parents. And you shouldn't've brought them to your parents' attention. That wasn't fair, at all."

What little of Sirius' upside down face that James could see looked white and drawn, and Sirius ran his hands over his face, as if he was trying to wipe away James' words. His palms hit the bruise on his jaw, and he ground the heels of his hands into his face, as if he welcomed the pain.

"Shit, Prongs," he whispered. "I didn't think, about that. I didn't think that they'd be mad at Moony's parents, and at Moony too. If it wasn't _their _fault, because it was mine. I guess, I didn't really think."

James desperately wanted to make a joke -"if there was an OWL in 'not thinking,' Padfoot, you'd get an Outstanding," maybe?- but the air in the room was still fraught with tension and anger. Slowly, James reached out across the foot of space that separated their beds, and wrapped his hand around Sirius' bicep.

"Next time, try harder to think before you act, Padfoot," he said, going for Moony's sternness and ending up, to his great surprise, in a not-half-bad imitation of his father. _Oh, and by the way..._

"Padfoot, mate, it's not fair of you to do that to Remus' parents, but his parents aren't my parents, ok? Mine _can _handle them. And, if you need to, you know ou can come to my house, if it's too much."

(_Shit shit SHIT _James did _not _want to talk about this. He wanted to go play Quidditch or flirt with Lily or go get pissed at the Tower party, but this needed to be said, and Remus was going to do it but he had to go deal with some other important problem so evidently it was up to James.)

Sirius shook his head, and grinned. "I know, Prongs, if Bellatrix gets me something nasty for Christmas, you'll be the first person I send it to, don't worry." Swiftly, he patted the hand that James still had wrapped around his bicep, as if to say: You can stop worrying, I've got this. It's not a big deal.

But it was a big deal; it was a big fucking deal, so James didn't take his hand away. "Can you, mate?" he asked. "Can you handle it?"

Under James' hand, Sirius' muscles tensed, and he slowly shook his head, so his fringe fell away from his eyes. They looked like flint; like bare fields frozen by a harsh winter. He swallowed tightly.

"It's just, it's not usually him." Sirius' voice was low and hoarse, and he stared fiercely at the ceiling, rather than look James in the eye. "He usually only gets involved when she nags him into it, or when she tells him to be pissed. And, fuck, Prongs, you've seen her, she's scary enough. She's barking mad." Sirius paused and grinned to himself, but it was bitter, and fleeting. "All the inbreeding's caught up to her, you know?" His voice dropped even lower. "But, when it's him, it's worse. Because, he's controlled about it. Calculating. It's, like, with a purpose, 'stead of just lashing out 'cause he's mad. It's a thousand times more scary than her."

James sighed. He wanted to tell Sirius that everything would be alright, but that would be useless, and a lie and patronizing, so he didn't say that. "What'll he do, Padfoot?" he whispered.

Sirius gulped, as if something bitter and sharp was stuck in his throat, choking him. "I don't, I don't know..." he stammered. His lips curled up. "Wait and see, Prongs. Wait til the platform, I guess. I'm sure you, and the whole fucking school, will see." Sirius shut his eyes. "See what a fucking little coward I turn into around him." He sighed. "What a brave fucking Gryffindor I am, huh, Prongs?"

* * *

><p>When Peter Petttigrew left James and Remus outside of their dormitory, he didn't to Honeydukes. And he wasn't really concerned about supplies for the Tower party. He wasn't thinking about Christmas dinner, or all the spellwork he was going to have to try to master over the holiday, or how much fun he was going to have playing QUidditch with his cousins. Instead, he was thinking about how much of a raging dick Sirius Black constantly was. It just wasn't fair, that Sirius got any girl he looked at Peter got zero; it wasn't fair that Sirius could tear him down and Peter could never respond quick enough; it wasn't fair that Moony and James liked Sirius best when Peter was the easy one, the nice one, the drama-free one. So, when he left the Gryffindor Tower he didn't go looking for supplies; he went looking for Slytherins.<p>

He found Malfoy within minutes of descending the steps to the dungeons; perhaps it was luck, but maybe it was also that the dungeons no longer scared Peter. The Slytherins weren't going to attack him, or anything, and the dungeons were actually kind of a cool place to visit. And in fucking fact, the Slytherin 7th Years were far nicer to Peter than Sirius Black ever had been. The Slytherins listened to him, and nobody mocked him or joked about his pudgy girl-hands or his (somewhat settled) virginity. They were his friends, and they were better friends to him than Sirius Black. And so, ok, maybe Peter wasn't verbally quick enough to joust with Sirius, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.

When he saw Peter, Malfoy stopped walking, and waited for him, and Peter felt 10 feet tall, knowing that this powerful and popular boy was waiting for _him. _Ok, so maybe this wasn't nice, but guess what, Sirius? People do not like to have their feelings hurt. The end.

"So, Malfoy," Peter said. "You're going to the Blacks' for the engagement gala, right?" He didn't even wait for Malfoy's happy nod. "Well, maybe you could give Sirius' mum a Christmas present, from me. Let me tell you a few of the things that Sirius' has said about her. They're all just so flattering; I'm sure she'll just love my Christmas present..."

* * *

><p>AN: Hey y'all, here's story about Christmas haha, just in time for Easter! Anyway, please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think


	16. Chapter 16

_Happy Christmas Indeed_

"Prongs! Catch that end!" Moony's warning was sharp and shrill, and while James would swear it was his superb Quidditch reflexes, it was actually pure un-fucking-adulterated luck that let him get his hands up in time to catch Peter's trunk as it tumbled down from the bins that lined the upper portion of the Hogwarts Express. The truck smashed into James' hastily upthrust arms, and Sirius and Peter dove to take some of the weight, as Remus leapt up on to a seat to grab the other end of the trunk. Slowly, Remus, James and Peter shifted the trunk back into place and secured it; Sirius had immediately backed away, his left hand curled against his chest, and an expression of utter outrage etched across his face.

Baggage (re)secured, the Marauders threw themselves back into their seats, knocking sweets wrappers to the floor and propping their feet up on Sirius' trunk, which was too big to fit in the overhead compartment. Still glaring bitterly at Peter's trunk, Sirius flapped his hand in the face of the trunk's owner, and shook his head gravely. "Wormtail," he began, "look what your monstrosity of a trunk did to me! Hugely painful, mate. I expect all your Cauldron Cakes in payment, for my injury." Sirius shook his head in disappointment, and Peter nodded gravely, clearly super convinced of the validity of Sirius' pain.

"Oh, fuck, Sirius, it must be pretty bad, 'specially if it requires _all _my Cauldron Cakes to feel better." He reached out towards Sirius. "Here, lemme see it. You know I'm just aces at diagnosing these small injuries." The corners of Sirius' eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but Peter didn't flinch.

Watching the two of them, James smirked broadly. _It's funny, _he thought, _somewhat because Sirius is actually such the opposite of a pansy who'd cry over a bruise from a falling trunk -he can take a viscous hit or a kick and just keep on coming, but it's really funny because Wormtail is always so wonderfully dead-pan about this shit. He's always able to keep a straight face and he can kind of direct Sirius' madcap creative energy into a fucking hilarious performance._

"Ok, mates, it looks like Padfoot's in shock from the pain, so Moony, you go tell the driver, and Prongs, I guess we'll just have to help him off the train, you take his shoulders and I'll take his legs." Wormtail leaned over and gathered Sirius' legs up off the trunk and looked expectantly at James, like he was waiting for him to grab Sirius' shoulders. James, grinning hugely, stood to help Peter shift the "injured" Sirius, because he would never give up this game, as long as someone still wanted to play.

"It's fine, Wormtail," Sirius muttered, holding his hand clenched against his chest, out of Peter's view. His lips were compressed, and James could see that he was clearly pissed that Peter'd called him out so successfully, but that's how this shit works amongst the Marauders, and if you can't take a joke, then, well, you can just go fuck yourself.

"Oh, seriously, Sirius?" Wormtail asked brightly, and Remus snorted loudly, breaking the game, which set them all off as Peter gently placed Sirius' legs back on the trunk, and took a quick bow, before dropping back into his seat. Smiling contentedly, Peter scooped up a Cauldron Cake, and handed it to Sirius. "Here, mate," he murmured, and Sirius ruefully took the cake from his friend, chuckling softly as he did.

"Hey, at least I got one," he said as he hefted the cake. "And I only had to get my hand chopped off by your trunk and get mocked by my best friends."

"For fuck's sake, Padfoot,_ here_." Peter tossed another cake at Sirius, and, because his right had was full of the first cake, Sirius automatically reached up and snagged the flying pastry with his left hand. His (ostensibly) _injured _left hand. Proud of his off-hand catch, Sirius smiled at them all; a second later, he realized that he'd used his "chopped-off" hand to catch the cake, and he actually deflated, slumping down in his seat and dropping his heels to the floor. The compartment erupted in laughter at the utterly down-trodden expression on Sirius' face, and Remus laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat when Sirius morosely stuffed both cakes into his mouth, chomping noisily on his prize.

"That would be Wormtail: 1, Padfoot: 0, I believe?" James inquired of the compartment, thrilled to have a victory to celebrate for Wormtail, who, it kind of seemed, got far fewer victories than the rest of them. It's important, James has realized, to always make sure that people know when they've impressed you, or been amusing, or brave, or whatever. It's important to celebrate shit, and this, as minuscule as it seems, is something to celebrate.

"Actually, it's probably more like Wormtail: 1, Padfoot: 9,000, but I'll take it." Peter ducked his head shyly, and turned to pick at the pile of trolley-food on the seat beside him.

"Actually, mates, Wormtail kicked all our arses at the Tower party last night." Sirius sat up, wiped crumbs away from his mouth, and gently nudged Peter's foot with his own. Peter lifted his head, totally surprised by Sirius' compliment. "Let's tabulate, shall we? Moony, you stared at Delia like a psycho for four hours, and cried an embarrassing amount when she got carried up to bed without saying goodnight to you." Sirius didn't even stop talking when an irate Remus flung a still-wrapped Chocolate Frog in his face; the package bounced smartly off his nose and dropped onto his lap.

"Prongs," he continued, "you carried around a piece of mistletoe all fucking night hoping to corner Evans, but that little minx has figured out your tricks after all these years, and didn't let you within five feet of her. And I couldn't get my head out of the punch-bowl for long enough to talk to a single girl, and probably would've fallen flat on my face if I'd even been stupid enough to try." Sirius unwrapped the Frog that Remus had flung at him, and gnawed both legs, before he continued.

"But Wormtail here, well, Wormtail was a regular Casanova. Two ruddy girls, wasn't it, Mr. Pettigrew?" Sirius asked, automatically adopting McGonagall's lilting brogue, and Peter blushed, scarlet shooting across his face and around his ears and temples.

"You, you saw?" he squeaked, and Sirius nodded gravely.

"That I fucking did, Wormtail. Ingrid Everet, and then that little blonde 4th Year, wasn't it?" Peter dropped his eyes, as if he was trying to be abashed, but was clearly having a hard time finding anything to be embarrassed about. Sirius looked at the Chocolate Frog card in the packaging. He grinned. "Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. Fucking perfect." He tossed the card at Peter. "Here, Wormtail, you get to be king of the compartment for the ride to London. You've certainly earned it, you motherfucking stud, you."

Remus, who sometimes did some really girlish things, had his hands clasped against his chest, and and James could see that Remus was just as fucking thrilled as he was, to see the two of them getting along like this. It was hard sometimes, to be best friends with both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, because their relationship was often antagonistic, and not usually in a funny way, but in a kind of cruel, unfriendly way. James didn't really think, that if they weren't all the Marauders, and therefore sworn to be loyal to each other, that Peter and Sirius would actually still be friends. But, whatever. It was nice, ok, to see Sirius not being a dick to Peter, who could never get enough confidence-boosts, and reminders that he _did_ deserve to be part of their group. It was just fucking nice.

"Oh, fuck, Moony, don't be such a girl, I've just given him my Frog card, which means I don't have to get a Christmas present for you, you know," Sirius said, turning to Peter as he finished the sentence.

"What, um, what are we all getting for Christmas?" Remus asked quickly, intentionally lowering his voice, to maybe make up for the femininity of his earlier reaction. Peter told them he'd be getting new robes, Moony only listed 2 of the probably 20 books he was getting, because he knew they just didn't give a shit as to what esoteric things he was going to read about over the holidays, and James mentally subtracted most of his expected presents before he responded, because it always felt un-gentlemanly to remind Moony and Wormtail exactly how much money the Potters had.

"Oh, well, I've asked Lucius for some of that shit he puts in his hair, that makes him look like a right douchebag, so that'll be nice." Sirius slowly ate the middle of the Frog, absently running his fingers over the condensation on the chilly windows.

"No, c'mon," Wormtail said, clearly wanting to continue the camaraderie that had been reforged between himself and Sirius "seriously, what're you getting?"

Sirius sat up straight in his chair, and dropped the remnants of the Frog on the floor. He stared fixedly at Peter, and his expression was ghoulish and intense. James felt the skin on the back of his neck tingle. The mood in the carriage had shifted; it felt dangerous and tense, and fury was suddenly radiating off of Sirius. _Shit, _James thought, _this is not going to go well. _

"Oh, well, _seriously, _Wormtail? Well, _seriously, _I'm probably going to get my arse kicked, for Christmas this year." Peter recoiled slightly, and Sirius leaned forward, malice etched around his snarling mouth. "Yeah, this Chrismas I'm just going to get the living shit beat out of me. So, I'm really fucking looking forward to that."

"_Well, that and Lucius Malfoy's hair product_," James really, really wanted to say, but right now there was no space for jokes in their compartment. Instead, he glanced at Moony's grim expression, and then at Peter's shocked and bloodless face. _There's something wrong with Pete,_ James realized. _Maybe the cakes didn't agree with him, or he's motion-sick, or something. He looks like he's about to throw up. _

James swallowed tightly. "Padfoot, mate," he murmured, but ran out of words as Sirius swung his frantically furious face around to look at him. James bit his lips, and Sirius' snarl deepened.

"You're right, Prongs," he snapped. "I shouldn't single Wormtail out. You're _all _going to have happy fucking Christmases. So, how's about _all_ of you go fuck yourselves." Sirius turned away from them, twisting his shoulders so he fully faced the windows. Viscously, he dug his heel into the crumbs of Chocolate Frog on the floor, and silence descended upon the compartment, as they all listened to the Express chug ever closer to London.

* * *

><p>They remained silent as the Express finally pulled into King's Cross, and no one moved even as they heard doors being flung open up and down the train, and feet rumbling in the corridors. Sirius' hands were trembling and he kept swallowing thickly, as if something sharp was stuck in his throat, choking him. Almost absent-mindedly, he ran his fingers through his longish hair, trying to neaten it in his reflection in the fogged-up window. Suddenly, he dropped his hands and looked around at the three other boys in the compartment. James tried to smile, but he could feel the worried, grandmotherly expression on his own face, which was only mirrored on Peter's and Remus' faces. Sirius smiled back, but it was flat and fake, and very afraid. He stood, squaring his shoulders, and gestured at the door. "Shall we, boys?" he asked, and immediately they all stood, and moved with him. <em>If they could give him nothing else<em>, James realized, _at least they could do this_.

They moved in a clump through the nearly-empty train, and just as they reached an exterior door which opened on to the platform, Sirius paused, and suddenly ripped his fingers through his hair, irrevocably mussing up any sense of order it might've had. "Padfoot?" James whispered, and this time Sirius' answering smile was almost real. He gestured to his messy hair. "Fuck them, Prongs, you know? It doesn't matter-he'll find something. So, fuck it."

* * *

><p>Remus and Peter peeled off from James and Sirius almost immediately, heading for their respective parents, to make sure that neither the Lupins nor Mrs. Pettigrew got involved with whatever might happen. James, Remus and Peter had discussed this: as much as Remus and Peter wanted to be there for Sirius, neither of their parents had the kind of clout or connections as the Potters did. If somebody was going to protest, or try to protect Sirius, the safest choice, (and the likeliest success) was the Potters.<p>

James spotted his mother instantaneously, and she came hurrying through the crowd, her arms open wide. He took her warm hug gladly, smelling her sweet perfume, and feeling how tightly she gripped his shoulders with one hand, while she reached for Sirius with the other hand. His mother let go of him as his father stepped into sight, and James stepped into his father's hug, hearing Sirius exclaim "Happy Christmas, Madame Potter!" in his terrible French accent. If James didn't know Sirius better than he knew anyone else on Earth, he would've believed the hearty cheer in Sirius' voice. But it was a lie: this parental interaction was a lie; Christmas was a lie; this whole fucking holiday was a lie, for Sirius Black at least, and it made James so heartsick and so angry, that there was nothing he could do. That the Blacks would collect Sirius from the platform, and something really shitty would happen to him, and that was the fucking end of that. _How're you supposed to be someone's best friend, _James wondered absently, _if you're just going to abandon him to people that're going to hurt him, _badly,_ while you go off and have Christmas dinner? _

The boys stepped back, and cheekily answered Charles Potter's questions about exams and Quidditch, while his mother fussed under her breath about how they both looked too skinny. The crowd on the platform was thinning, but James still couldn't see the Blacks. For one second, he let himself hope that maybe they'd just abandoned Sirius, and Sirius would just have come to his house for the holidays instead, and James would get a new broom _and _a new brother for Christmas. That hope shriveled up and crumbled away when James felt Sirius, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, tense suddenly. Grateful they were still wearing their cloaks, which hid his movements, James reached down and wrapped his fingers around Sirius's hand, and held on tightly.

A crisp step sounded behind them, and Charles Potter looked up from his son, and his son's best friend. "Orion," he nodded formally. "Happy Christmas. The boy were just telling me about their season so far. Pretty impressive, it seems."

"Happy Christmas, Charles," Orion responded politely, and James flicked his eyes upwards at Sirius' father. He didn't look particularly menacing, but he was clearly scaring the fuck out of Sirius. Pleasantries concluded, Orion Black turned his shoulders slightly towards his son, and suddenly, James saw the menace descend upon him. He saw his own father's expression darken, and his mother stepped closer to him, as everyone in their happy little group immediately felt the angry pressure of Orion Black's mood.

"You've kept me waiting for eleven minutes, Sirius," Orion snapped. Carefully, he lifted his hand, and dropped it onto the back of Sirius' neck. He curled his hand, and James could see Orion's fingers dig into the thin skin of Sirius' neck; could see the red marks begin to form; could see pain in the line of Sirius' jaw. "But, no matter. I'm glad you've arrived. I'm looking forward to our, _discussion_, about your term."

"Yes, sir," Sirius murmured, and James felt nauseous. You could see Sirius physically retreating into himself -he seemed to shrink, and his shoulders rolled inwards. His hands inched closer to his body, and his knees bent. He looked younger, shakier, and it was clear that Sirius was a very different person when he was home in 12 Grimmauld Place. Not for the first time, James marveled at the person Sirius had nevertheless become-coming from the house and the family that had raised him.

"Well, let's be off, Sirius," Orion said, and there was ice in his voice. Sirius nodded mutely, and carefully, still hidden by the folds of his cloak, unfurled his fingers from James'. He bowed formally to James' parents, and James could see that his mother desperately wanted to pull Sirius in for another hug, but Orion Black's hand was still clamped around Sirius' neck, so she stayed at James' shoulder, and glanced worriedly at her husband.

"Orion," Charles began, but Orion held up his free hand.

"Happy Christmas," he snarled, and spun away, pulling Sirius with him. Sirius stumbled slightly, and his father shoved him forwards, still gripping the back of his neck, keeping hold of him even as he pushed him away.

James watched as Sirius and his father walked away from them, hating himself for not speaking up; for not telling his father what was going to happen, and begging him to help Sirius, to stop Orion. But he'd done fucking nothing not in advance, and not at the very end, when every line in Sirius' body screamed: _Help me, please!_-what a cowardly excuse for a best friend he was. Happy fucking Christmas indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! Hope y'all enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think! **


	17. Chapter 17

**Purified**

"Mum! For Merlin's sake, gerroff!" Irritated, James ducked away from his mother's hands as she stood behind him in his mirror and attempted to flatten his messy hair. He could hear the whine in his voice, and hated himself a little for it. And it wasn't that he didn't want his mother's help, it was that he really, _really _did not want to go to this fucking Engagement Gala. His mother's eyes narrowed at his tone and his inappropriate fury, and James flushed. He leaned closer to the mirror, deliberately avoiding his mother's gaze. "It's just... I like it messy like this, Mum. It looks like I've just got off a broom, see?"

Ellen Potter snorted -softly, and under her breath, like a freakin' lady- and ran her own hand through James' hair, to help him muss it up even farther. "Oh, of course, Jimmy. I'm sure there will be at least _one _nice-looking girl there tonight." She smirked. "And, not that we should be deliberately _trying _to be annoying, but won't that just grind Walburga Black's wand, to see you all rumpled at Narcissa's gala?"

James grinned back at his mum. As much as everyone said that he'd inherited his looks and his Quidditch talents from his father, he knew that he'd also gotten his sense of humor, and his mischievousness, from his mum. He glanced in the mirror at his mother, as she smoothed down her own hair over his shoulder. The reddish tint of her hair was darker now, and the skin around her eyes was maybe too thin-looking, but she was still his beautiful, glowing-eyed mother. And yes, it fucking would grind Walburga Black's wand, to see James Potter with messy hair at her party tonight, and James was thrilled to go along with any plan that would put a bee in Sirius' mother's bonnet (or a manticore in her cloak, James wasn't too picky about what animal he'd stick where). But, he realized, smiling at his mum, he was even _more _thrilled that it was his mother who suggested it. That she understood him, and understood Sirius, and their relationship, well enough to understand that even this small rebellion would bolster James, as he walked into this serpent's den of a formal party.

Carefully, Ellen Potter smoothed the thick velvet drape of his dress-robes, brushing the nape out from his shoulders and down his arms. She had to reach up to do it, and James could see the pride and pleasure in her face as she looked up at him. Suddenly -completely against his will- James felt his throat tighten, and tears sprang to his eyes. _Buck the fuck up, Potter, _he nearly growled at himself, and to hide his ridiculous reaction, he leaned down and scooped his mother up into a bear-hug. Immediately, her arms wrapped around his waist, and she stretched up on tip-toe to return his embrace. "Oh, my darling Jimmy. Do you know how much I love you?" she murmured into his shoulder. James swallowed tightly. _Yes, Mum, I absolutely do. And I hope you know how much I love you._

But, he didn't say that, because if he did he would maybe start crying like a little girl, and he knew that all of this was brought on only because James was so fucking worried about seeing Sirius tonight -about speaking to his best friend for the first time in nearly three weeks. Because Sirius had been conspicuously absent from James' life for the whole of the Christmas holiday thus far, and James had been almost frantic with worry as exactly what had befallen him.

So instead of behaving like a sniveling child, James gently placed his mother back on the floor, and grinned at her like the man he sometimes thought he was becoming. "Course I do, Mum. And, you're not so bad yourself...for an old bird, that is."

Ellen Potter's eyes flashed mischievously, and she drew her wand from inside her sleeve. "Oh, 'old bird,' Jimmy? Well, as your 'old bird' mother, I could make your hair lie flat for the rest of your life. How'd you like that?"

"Not particularly, Mum," James answered, matching her grin. "Just remember, I know some spells too." He pointed his own wand at her neatly coiled hair, and lifted his eyebrows menacingly.

Ellen's giggle resounded throughout his bedroom. "Oh, Jimmy, we'd look a right pair of idiots, walking into this thing, wouldn't we. What do you think your father'd say?"

James took a deep breath. He could say this to her, because she wasn't his father, and didn't expect him to be a man just yet, and she truly understood him in a way that his father, for all of his wisdom, did not. "Mum? Do we, do we really have to go to this thing?" He dropped his head, so she wouldn't have to look her coward son in the face. He hated himself for saying this, for even thinking it, but it was too late to take back now. "It's not that I don't want to see Sirius, I _do, _obviously...it's just, I don't want to see him, like this. With all these people, who everyone thinks are so wonderful, but are actually just cruel, vicious arseholes."

He couldn't look at his mother, so he jumped when he felt her hands on his arms, pushing him gently to his bed. They sat down on the edge of it, their heavy dress robes pooling around their knees, and Ellen took her son's hand in both of hers. "Oh, Jim. It's alright, darling. It's alright to be a little, apprehensive, and even a little scared. Because, sweetheart, you're not scared for yourself. You're scared for Sirius, and that's the very definition of courage."

Her hands tightened, and James could feel the anger radiating in the tension of her fingers. "We've tried, your father and I, to keep you away from the pureblood movements, even though we obviously are pureblood, ourselves. We don't like the ideology, we don't appreciate the tactics, or the leadership, and we absolutely do not like a lot of the people who would, ascribe to such ideas." She stood slowly, and pulled James up with her. "I know that you don't want to go tonight, Jimmy. But you will, for your father and I, and for Sirius, and I'm very, very proud of you for that." She nudged him towards the door, brushing invisible dust from their robes and scooping up his cloak and gloves. "So, c'mon, my darling son. Let's go be staggering disappointments to the pureblood movement."

* * *

><p>The second the Potter family Apparated across the street from 12 Grimmauld Place, James could see his mother slip a bland, polite mask across her normally grinning features. She kept the mask in place as they crossed the threshold, and were greeted by the forbidding Walburga Black, and her even more forbidding husband. It stayed cemented to her face as she nodded at her various acquaintances around the darkened ballroom, and it remained even as she heard the grating music of the orchestra. The mask only slipped for one second -when both she and James realized that Sirius wasn't among the Black children and cousins arranged in the receiving line- but she pasted it back on immediately, as the crowd began to swirl around them.<p>

James started to walk with his parents into the crowded ballroom, but, hidden by their dress-robes, his mother put her hand on his chest, and pushed him backwards. "Find him," she murmured, and turned away from her son. "Why, Druella," she called gaily to a woman just inside the ballroom. "Do tell me where you found that perfect dress-robe. I've been looking for something just like that for ages."

Almost cackling, James slipped away from the noise and chatter of the party, and into the far quieter main corridor. He nodded solemnly at the various guests clustered in the hallway, hoping that he looked old enough so that no one would stop him and ask him about Hogwarts' Quidditch program, or whatever. He peered into the darkened rooms of that lined the corridor, but they all contained various groups of close-talking witches and wizards, none of whom were Sirius. He wasted ten whole minutes in the bustling kitchen, snatching hors d'oeuvres from trays carried by distracted House Elves, but Sirius wasn't posted up in the warmth and merriment of the kitchen, either.

_Ok, _James told himself, as he jumped down from the kitchen counter. _If Sirius isn't on the first floor at the party, then he's on the second. That's fine. I'll just go look for him there, I guess. _But it had rocked him, like a punch in the gut that drives the air from your lungs, to see that Sirius was absent from the receiving line. And, after his thus-far futile search, James was beginning to worry that Sirius wasn't absent by choice or by decree, but because he was maybe too injured to make it down the stairs. Shit. James ran his hands through his hair, and stood poised in doorway to the kitchen, anxiously deciding what part of the decrepit, frightening old manse he should visit next.

Suddenly, James felt a buzz against his hip, and he clapped his hand against the fold of his dress-robe, searching frantically for the stupid, hidden pocket and..._yes! _His two-way mirror! It was still vibrating when James yanked it from his pocket, and peered eagerly into the shiny mirror. "Padfoot?" he whispered. Then, "Sirius? Where are you, mate?"

Instead of answering, Sirius held up the mirror and showed him where he was: sitting in the curve of a deep, cushioned window seat, several stories up. "Be there soon, Padfoot," James whispered, and began to run quietly up the stairs. "Goddamnit, Sirius," he murmured as he climbed. "Always with the fucking windows when you're pissed off. 'Cause who doesn't love this shit, right?"

He paused on each level, searching frantically for a room that looked like the one Sirius had shown him, but nothing looked right. He could hear voices from different rooms on each floor, but it had seemed like Sirius was having more of a private party, so James kept climbing. Finally, on the very top floor, as he stood out of breath and blinking through the darkness, James saw a strip of moonlight bleeding out from under a door just across the landing. Quietly, he opened the tightly-closed door, and breathed an enormous (silent) sigh of relief to see his best friend sprawled in the window seat of the room's enormous bay window. Thin, silvery moonlight illuminated Sirius' black dress robes and black hair, and the shadowy angles of his body.

As much as James wanted to rip him out of his seat and hug him (and then throw Sirius over his shoulder and run away from this house and never let him go back) he knew that Sirius would never, _ever _forgive him for such a pathetic reaction. So instead, James dropped into the other side of the window seat and knocked Sirius' legs aside so his own could fit more comfortably. "Happy Christmas, Padfoot," he mumbled. He held out the napkin full of food he'd nicked from the kitchen. "Nibbles?"

* * *

><p>Sirius snorted, and slowly turned his head away from the window. James could smell the Firewhiskey on his best friend, and reached out his hand for the bottle -since friends didn't let friends drink alone- but froze when the moonlight fell on Sirius' face. Because even in the pale moonlight, James could see the yellow-black bruises that flowed from Sirius' temple down his jaw line, and the gashes that lined his forehead.<p>

"Calm down, Prongs." Sirius' voice was sardonic and not at all pitiful. He gestured at his face. "She wouldn't give me anything for them. But, she also wouldn't let me out into the crowd, looking like a fucking vagabond. So, I get to skulk up here, and make Kreacher bring me Firewhiskey and pastries. It's perfect. Only way to have a party, really." Sirius stuffed a pastry into his mouth, and looked mournfully down at the floor, as if he could see the ballroom through the splintery wood planks. "If only the girls weren't so pale and pudgy, and pathetic, Prongs. This party would be a lot more fun." He swigged deeply from the Firewhiskey bottle, seemingly unaware that a thin rivulet leaked from his mouth and down his chin. He grinned at James, and it made James' heart skip a fucking beat (and yes, he knew how pathetic that is, but what the fuck ever) to see such a normal, everyday grin on Sirius' battered face. "Shit, Prongs, what d'you think my mother would do, if she caught me fucking in one of the drawing rooms, or something? How much of a shit fit would she throw, do you think?"

James was afraid to answer in any way that might seem like an affirmation of Sirius' plan, because Walburga Black might literally kill her son, were he to do that. "I'm sure she'd turn a lovely shade of puce, Padfoot, and likely blow herself up from rage, but, if you're going to risk all that, it should be with a girl that's worth it, you know? One that's actually memorable, for good reasons, too."

Sirius nodded sagely at James' haphazard advice. "Well put, mate," he slurred, and lifted the Firewhiskey bottle to toast James. Tilting it upwards, he missed his mouth entirely, and immediately a river of Firewhiskey poured down his front and into his lap.

"Shitshitshit" Sirius yelped, leaping up from the window seat and pulling his soaked robe away from his chest. Hurriedly, he fumbled with the clasps of the robe and yanked it off his shoulders. Clumsily, he flung his robe across the room, and mopped at his chest, trying to get the stickiness of the whiskey off his skin. And it was _skin_, James realized, and not _shirt_ or _collar_, because when Sirius had ripped his robe off his shoulders, he'd revealed that his only other article of clothing was a pair of black boxer shorts.

James burst into laughter. "Sirius, mate," James gestured at his own dress robe even as his chest heaved with laughter, "I know these things are suffocatingly hot and all, but you're supposed to wear _some _clothes."

Sirius just grinned at him, clearly unembarrassed to be standing around in his boxers. "Easy access, for girls, Prongs." He nodded solemenly. "And that's why I've slept with more birds than anyone else in the Year, and why you're still a virgin."

James grinned slowly, slightly surprised. He wasn't even mad about the reminder of his omnipresent virginity. Maybe, Sirius was actually ok? Maybe his dire predictions and his fear had all been for nothing; maybe the Blacks had actually behaved like normal human parents and not like soul-crushing monsters. Maybe James' worry had all been for nothing? He shook his head as Sirius crossed back to the window seat, letting himself relax for the first time all evening. "Well, mate, you can just-" He stopped suddenly, overcome with nausea and fury and a sickening, horrifying dread.

Because, when Sirius had jumped up to pull off his wet robe, he'd moved out of the square of moonlight let in though the bay window. But now, he'd stepped back into the light, and now, James could see what his robe had been hiding. Deep, jagged, angry-looking welts laced the length of Sirius' body, graven into his chest and shoulders and upper arms. James could see more welts licking around the sides of Sirius' stomach and thighs, and clearly his back and legs were even more battered than his chest. He looked like he should be dead, and James realized that Sirius' abnormal stillness was probably from fucking pain, and not alcohol, like he'd originally thought.

"Oh, fucking, fuck, Sirius," James whispered. It was bad. It was so fucking bad, and he should never've relaxed, and he never should've fucking let Sirius come home to this, and if his mother ever saw this she'd burn Sirius off the Black Family Tapestry herself, and adopt him on the spot.

"Don't, Prongs."

"Sirius, this-"

"I said fucking _don't_, James," Sirius growled, and James flinched. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Sirius' hunched form, as the Black boy carefully lowered himself to the edge of the window seat. Sirius' happy, calm drunk had clearly fallen off and slithered away, and now Sirius held his shoulders tight against his neck, and couldn't seem to lift his head to look at James.

Slowly, feeling as if the whole world was sitting on his chest, and pushing down every time he tried to inhale, James lifted the half-empty Firewhiskey bottle and gulped from it, enjoying the burning bite of the whiskey as it hit the back of his throat. Without looking at him, Sirius reached for the bottle, and James had to deliberately stop himself from clasping Sirius' hand as he passed the bottle to him. They sat in silence for long minutes, listening absently to occasional fragments of party-noise, passing the bottle back and forth. James had no fucking clue what to do, or to say, but that was actually fine, because he did know that he couldn't be the first one to speak.

"It, it was bad, Prongs," Sirius murmured suddenly, his voice uneven and nearly inaudible, even in the silent room. "It was so fucking bad."

Fury compressed the base of James' neck, tightening his jaw and shoulders, keeping him locked in place. He really, really wanted Sirius to back away from this topic, and he frantically cast around for some distraction. And maybe he wasn't thinking (and maybe, deep down, he actually did want to know exactly what the Blacks were capable of) but he couldn't seem to stop his traitorous moth. "But, what-" James clapped his teeth together, but it was too late.

The shadows hid the sneer of Sirius' face, but James could hear it in his brightly-bleak voice. "Oh, Prongsie, you want to hear about what happened to me? About how much my fucking father _enjoys_ doing this shit? About-"

Mutely, livid with himself, James reached out and grabbed Sirius' shin, trying to break his best friend out of this happily-horrifying mode, and Sirius flinched, and fell silent at James' touch. Gulping, Sirius leaned back against the cushioned seat, and dragged his hands over his eyes, as if he couldn't look at James. As if he was the one who should be embarrassed about this whole situation.

"He couldn't even wait til we got inside, Prongs. The second we Apparated though, he was shoving me towards his fucking study." Sirius shuddered, and the skin of his shin was cold and dry under James's palm.

"He has this, um, cane, made from this knobbly wood, and he…" Sirius trailed off, and gestured at the jagged weals on his shoulders and chest, visible even in the dim light of the room. "Well, I dunno if he did it, or if, 'cause it's fucking family heirloom, it came like this, but…there's something in the wood." He ran a thumb absently over a florid gash that cut across his pectorals. "They don't close. They don't heal. Not til the person who gave them to you permits it." James swallowed tightly. _Sirius had been walking around like this since the first day of the holidays? For over three weeks? Who were these fucking people, that could do this to their son?_

"And, fuck me Prongs, if you tell anyone this I'll fucking kill you but that's not the worst thing. The beatings, the pain, fuck, it's not my favorite fucking thing to do, but I can fucking take it, you know?" Sirius dropped his head, and spoke to his chest, as if he couldn't believe that he was saying this out loud. "It's how he looks at me. Like, I'm fucking worthless. Like I'm such a fucking disappointment to him. Like, like I'm nothing." Sirius drew in a deep, ragged breath, and James flinched. _Holy shit, Sirius, let's not cry, please, because today was already horrifying enough. Ok, Potter,_ he told himself._ Time to be a distracting arsehole._

"Whoa, Padfoot," James made his voice hugely sardonic, as if what he was saying was the most important thing in the world. As if the joke was all that mattered. "Um, you're not going to cry, are you? Let's buck up, mate."

Sirius exhaled –sort of a sob, but also sort of a snort, and that was good enough for James. "Go fuck yourself, Jimbo," he muttered, hastily drawing his hand across his eyes.

James smirked. "Well, now doesn't really seem like the time, Padfoot, but if you insist…" Sirius' barking response of a laugh was short and soft, but it was real, and for the first time in three weeks, James' spirits lifted. They fell silent for a few moments, as Sirius collected himself, and James tried not to intrude.

"P.S., hey, Prongs, you'll never believe it, but we've got a rat in the Tower."

"Huh?"

Sirius wrinkled his forehead, and the laughter disappeared from his face. "Uh, one of the reasons, that, uh, he was so pissed was 'cause he had a little chat with Malfoy. And, Malfoy told him all the shit we talk -well, all the shit _I_ talk about them, in the Tower. And how we're constantly dueling Slytherins, and how I'm a bit of a shite to Reg, and how I've fucked a whole load of Muggleborn girls, and yeah. So, that sucked."

_Well,_ James thought quickly, _the whole rat-in-the-Tower is an issue, and needs to be addressed, but not til all the Marauders got together again. But the Malfoy thing? That could be handled by just the two of them. Correction: That could be_ happily fucking handled _by just the two of them._ "So," James said, gesturing at Sirius, "a lot of this is Malfoy's fault?" Sirius nodded tightly. "Well, that doesn't seem fair, you know, that you're up here all wounded and gross-looking, and he's downstairs enjoying the shit out of his engagement gala. James stood, rolling his neck from side to side to crack it, and dropping into a dueling stance. "I think we'll have to do something about that, eh, Padfoot?"

Dark mirth crept on to Sirius' face, and he jumped to his feet, looking almost like the Sirius Black that James had left back at Hogwarts. "I thought you'd never ask, Prongs," he said gleefully, dashing across the room to snatch his cast-off dress robe from its untidy heap. He bounded over to the door and flung it open, hurriedly clasping the robe back around his shoulders. "What's your plan, Prongs?" he asked excitedly.

James hadn't quite figured out the specifics of his plan, but he was in exactly the right frame of mind to come up with something that would maximize pain and humiliation for the fucking 7th Year snake who'd enjoyed letting Sirius get hurt. Revenge-pranks were his specialty. And he was fucking _inspired_.

"I promise, you'll love it, Padfoot," he answered evasively. But James couldn't let them walk out of the room without some assurance. "Hey, mate." Sirius paused, expectantly at James. "Can you hold on, Sirius? Can you, hang in there, I mean? Do you need, a…I guess, um, can you?"

It was essentially Marauder law that every serious question should be answered firstly with a something funny; you should always try for the joke- some kind of retort or jibe. But maybe Sirius couldn't bring himself to laugh about this yet- maybe he truly saw nothing funny. He grimaced. "I think, Prongs, that this'll help." He nodded to himself, and slowly lifted his head. Absently, he rubbed the bruises on his jawline, and nodded, as if he was trying desperately to convince himself. "This'll fucking help."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please enjoy this super long chapter! As always, thanks so much for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Forsook **

"So, what're you thinking, Prongs? How're we going to get him?" Sirius's voice was hoarse and giddily eager, and James smiled ruefully. He could count on one hand (ok, maybe on two hands and a foot) the number of times when he'd been happy to hear that tone in Sirius' voice -to know that his best friend was _excited_ by the imminent violence and/or humiliation they were about to deal out. _But, _James reasoned, as the two boys crept down several flights of stairs to Sirius' bedroom, _if anybody fucking deserves it, it's Malfoy, and my Lily-conscience doesn't twinge even a little bit. Fuck, I bet Lily Evans herself would be cheering us on. _He grinned to himself, remembering the mischief dancing in her eyes when she'd thrown a heaping bowl of porridge at him in the middle of the Great Hall, two months back. _Actually, for Malfoy, I bet she'd be leading the fucking charge._

"It's _your_ revenge to take, Padfoot," James whispered, because, well, it was. James was happy -fucking thrilled, actually- to supply some ideas and a measure of angry malice, but it was clear from the battered state of his best friend that Sirius'd been serving as a mostly-passive punching bag for the past three weeks, and James felt it was well past time for that to stop. _Sirius needs to be in charge of this, _James mused, watching Sirius move gingerly down the darkened corridor._ He needs to take back some of the control he gave up the second he stepped over the threshold at 12 Grimmauld Place. _

They reached the landing which led to Sirius and Regulus' bedrooms, and Sirius paused, furious delight glinting in his grey eyes. "Well, Prongs," he said calmly, "what I'd really love to do is to peel his skin right off his back." His voice dropped, and splinters of ice crept into it. "Let, let him see how it feels, the little fucker." James froze, and bit his bottom lip. Sirius looked like he wanted to launch himself over the railing and into the party below -in the general direction of Lucius Malfoy, of course, but perfectly happy to take out anyone else in his path. Sirius looked just a little bit crazy, and not in a fun, let's-play-Quidditch-in-a-lightning-storm kind of way, but in more of a bleak, hopeless kind of way, from which there might be no escape.

"Might be, uh, a bit hard to pull off, mate, but..." James trailed off, supremely gratified to see Sirius suddenly catch hold of himself again; he shook his shaggy head and blinked a bunch and straightened his shoulders, pretending not to wince as his weeks-old injuries pulled and stretched.

"Fuck it, Jimmy, you're right. Plus, that's boring, you know?" Sirius narrowed his eyes and ran his hands down an imaginary beard. He puffed his cheeks the way Dumbledore always did before making an important announcement, and James smirked. Sirius could imitate McGonagall like a champ, but his Slughorn and Dumbledore impressions were somewhat lacking-not that James would ever tell him that. And it wasn't even really his fault; Sirius just never could twist his narrow face into Slughorn's jowly visage, and he'd _never _be able to attain Dumbledore's air of grave tranquility. But what-the-fuck-ever. Sirius was doing his Dumbledore impression, and James was going to laugh at it and listen to his important announcement and secretly rejoice that Sirius had rediscovered his sense of humor even in the heart of his dark house.

"No, Prongs, I'm _not _going to flay him, 'smuch as I want to, obviously. Psychological torture lasts way longer, anyway. So, we're doing that." James nodded briskly, ready to know _how _exactly they were going to get Malfoy, when a woman's soft laugh echoed up the corridor. The boys froze for an instant, then darted apart into the deep shadows along each wall. Carefully, they inched forward, silently drawing their wands, ready for whatever new horror lay hidden in the long hallways of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Quietly, the boys peered around a corner, and in the dim light, and strained to make out the identity of the slight figure, curled up in a deeply-recessed window seat, whispering into her hands. It was too dark for James to see who exactly they were spying on, but Sirius' shoulders relaxed, and he lowered his wand. "Andromeda," he mouthed at James, and James nodded slowly. He didn't lower his wand. He wasn't sure that just because it was Andromeda, and not Bellatrix or Narcissa, that they should relax- Andromeda was still a Black, and thus was still a part of the family that had treated Sirius like shit for 15 years.

Sirius cocked his ear at his cousin, and so James did too, feeling not even the slightest bit bad that he was eavesdropping on the clearly personal conversation of an almost-stranger. Andromeda was still laughing, and James couldn't help but smile at her clear delight. "Trust me," she murmured, "the only unfair thing about you missing this stupid party is that you don't get to see how incredible my ass looks in this dress robe." James' jaw dropped- in five years of knowing her, he'd never once heard Andromeda Black talk like that. Sirius looked equally shocked; he propped himself up against the wall as if he'd gone wobbly and weak at the sound of his proper-est cousin whispering dirty things to a boy.

Andromeda's rich laugh curled down the corridor again, and James swallowed tightly. _Who the _fuck _is she talking to, _he wondered madly,_ and would she notice if I killed him and took his place_ _suddenly? _She laughed again, and for one mad second James wanted to sprint down the dark corridor and bury himself in the welcoming warmth of her laugh. "Oh, really, you silly man?" she said, and her voice arched upwards. "Well, for doubting me like that, I guess I won't tell you what I'm wearing _under _my dress robes. Or, rather, not wearing."

Sweet bloody Merlin. James' legs nearly gave way beneath him, and he gasped. He looked wildly around as blood pounded in his ears. _Where the fuck is the dragon I would happily fight if it would make Lily Evans talk like that to me, _he thought frantically, already trembling at the fantasy of Lily describing her arse to him. Or any other part of her body, really. From some distance, James could see Sirius laughing at him; even in the dark hallway, blinded by his Lily-fantasy, James could see Sirius' delight at James' admittedly pathetic reaction.

"We've got to get you a girl, mate," Sirius told him, mock-punching his jaw as he stepped out from behind the wall and into Andromeda's sight-line. "By all the powers of Merlin, Andie," Sirius almost shouted, and the girl gasped, and scrabbled at her pocket, clearly shocked as her cousin and his (semi-dazed but endeavoring mightily to hide it) best friend strolled out of their hiding spots. "Who knew you had it in you?" Sirius launched himself at Andromeda's window seat, and sprawled next to her, pointedly ignoring her glare and clear air of frustration.

"I, I'm not sure exactly what you're babbling about, Siri," Andie said haughtily, trying for her aunt Walburga's drawl, but failing rather miserably.

"You look guilty as fuck, Andie," Sirius told her calmly, and she sighed, and slowly slipped her clenched fist deep inside a pocket of her dress robes. The pale moonlight glinted on her loosely-closed palm, and James realized suddenly that Andromeda had been talking into one half of a two-way mirror, just like the set he and Sirius shared. _Ok, Potter, _he told himself shakily. _You know the _how _of this tremendously surprising conversation, but who really gives a shit about that? The _who_ is so much more interesting. _Slowly, James inched forward until he stood in front of Sirius and his cousin, and looked futilely around for a place to sit that wasn't the crowded window seat or the dusty floor.

Finally aware that Sirius had permanently interjected himself into her formerly private conversation, Andromeda heaved a huge sigh. She rubbed her hands down her jaw, and deliberately composed her features, letting her face tighten into the arrogant mask all the women of Sirius' family seemed to wear so easily. She drew up her shoulders and pushed her hair pack; she was beautiful, even in the arrogant pose she'd been taught since childbirth. But, James realized, noticing the tension in her shoulders and the rigidity of her hands, she was a thousand times more beautiful when she was laughing, and relaxed, teasing a mysterious boy and not at all concerned about her dignity or her prestige or the responsibility of her position.

"Guilt implies wrongdoing, Sirius, and Blacks are never wrong."

"Don't I fucking know it, Andie," Sirius murmured, and James winced at the frightening implications of Sirius' response. But Andromeda just laughed ruefully, and patted the top of Sirius' head before smoothing down his messy hair.

"Speaking of, Andie," Sirius gestured down the double staircase at the noise of the party below them. "If you don't want to be thought guilty of, uh, well, _something _dastardly, you might want to skive off, sharpish."

Andie grinned at the pair of them, and James finally understood why Sirius had relaxed earlier when he'd realized it was her; she was a Black, yes, but she clearly loved Sirius, and didn't seem to think of him as an annoyance, or a thorny project, or a hopeless case, as most of the rest of his family did. "Hey, Andie," Sirius said, glancing obliquely at his cousin, "d'you know you haven't once yet smacked me for calling you 'Andie'? I thought you hated that nickname. Said it wasn't dignified, and shit."

Andromeda smiled hugely, a blaze of happiness in the dim corridor, and James nearly gasped aloud at the beauty of the girl in front of him. He'd never, not in 5 years of knowing Sirius and his family, seen a Black look so purely, perfectly happy. It seemed like a streak of melancholia ran through their family -inherited like their dark hair and pale skin and thickly-lashed eyes. "Hmm," she murmured, making a surprised face, but clearly not actually surprised at all. "I guess, I've learned to like it." She ducked her head, but a fierce pride shone in her downturned eyes. "Maybe, I've figured out that there's more important things than dignity."

Suddenly, she stood up, swiftly gathering the train of her dress robes and flinging it out in a delicate fan behind her. She leaned over and kissed the top of Sirius' head, and leapt lightly down from the window seat onto the floor. She grinned at James and started to walk down the stairs and back to her little sister's engagement gala. At the top of the stairs, she paused, and turned back, still wearing a hint of her blazing grin. "Boys," she said, and her voice was bright, "might your _something _dastardly have anything to do with Malfoy?" Neither Sirius nor James responded, but that was perhaps answer enough. "Good." She nodded, bobbing rapidly her head without regard for her fancy hairstyle or heavy earrings. "Good luck." And with that, she turned and walked away from them, leaving them in the darkness.

* * *

><p>"Sirius!" It spoke with a young boy's voice, still scratchy and breaking, and it spoke in a whisper-shout, so neither James nor Sirius immediately shot Stunning Spells at the shadowy figure sneaking up the stairs, calling for Sirius.<p>

Sirius stepped forward, and hurriedly dropped his wand. "Reg!" he called gladly, and held out his hands to his little brother. James rolled his eyes, and kept his wand trained on the skinny boy tip-toeing towards them. It infuriated him that Sirius was so quick to forgive his brother and his cousin; so happy to see them and talk to them, even as Sirius' neck and hands trembled from the pain wracking his body. Sirius was in pain because of his family, because his family didn't approve of his choices and his personality, and while Regulus and Andromeda perhaps didn't personally cause Sirius' injuries, they certainly didn't prevent them. And maybe Sirius was okay with their bystander-innocence, but James wasn't. It made his skin crawl, to see how happy Sirius was to see his brother, after Regulus had likely spent the past three weeks pretending that Sirius didn't exist.

"What, uh, what are you doing?" Regulus asked, eyeing James beadily, obviously already blaming him for the trouble Sirius was certainly about to get into.

"A little revenge, munchkin," James responded, secretly thrilled at the flash of resentment that arced across Regulus' features at James' nickname for him. Intrigued, in spite of himself, Regulus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius smiled happily. "Lucius Malfoy," he whispered, taking care to draw out the sibilant syllables.

Regulus cocked his head at his older brother, and James hoped he would protest, so that he and Sirius could brush the munchkin aside and get down the business of getting Malfoy. But Regulus surprised him.

"Like the Christmas before Hogwarts?" Regulus asked, clapping a hand to his mouth to suppress his laughter. Sirius joined him, and both Black brother bent double beneath the force of their mirth, remembering their childhood antics.

Watching them, excluded from their brotherly memories, James shuddered with anger. Jealousy -raging and wrathful and massive- blossomed in James' chest. His hands shook and his vision ran red and white-hot. He knew it was childish, and fucking pathetic, to react like this, but he could not for the love of Merlin help himself. He'd wanted a brother so desperately when he was little, and now he had Sirius (and Remus and Peter, too), but it wasn't the fucking same. Seeing Regulus and Sirius together, even after Sirius' punishment and Regulus' (likely) treatment of him, made it so fucking clear that growing up with someone gives you a shared history and a common language that neither time nor distance can ever erase. Sirius and James were brothers, yes, but it was choice that bound them, rather than blood. _Maybe that's why he doesn't leave, _James realized sadly, a fake smile plastered on his face, to try to hide the resentment boiling up inside of him. _They're terrible to him, and they hate each other, but they're his blood. Maybe...maybe that's more important than anything else? More important, even, than me? _

Well. Fuck this self-pity bullshit. James shook his head briskly, the way Padfoot sometimes did when he ran into spiderwebs and clouds of gnats. "Sadly, boys," James addressed the Black brothers, keeping his voice pitched low, "I wasn't here for this awesome-sounding Christmas. But," he glanced meaningfully down the stairs at the furor of the party below them. "Let's make some new, even worse Christmas memories for Lucius Malfoy."

They nodded swiftly, and Regulus gently nudged his brother's shoulder. "So, what's the plan, Siri?" he asked.

"Let's see how Malfoy likes it, when he's made to do shit he doesn't want to." Sirius grinned, but it was ghoulish, with not a trace of joy.

_That's an Unforgivable! _James' conscience screamed. _Sirius is gonna Imperius him, and that's an Unforgivable! _It wasn't even his Lily-conscience, because that one was in perfect agreement with Sirius' plan and his motivations. This conscience looked far more like his blue-eyed father, whose only wish for his son was that James live in a manner that would make James proud of himself. _And son, _his father-conscience intoned, _you know that no Wizard should ever be proud of using an Unforgivable. _James sighed. Sometimes it was so hard to figure out exactly how to act so that he could be proud of himself. Like, he could tell a joke or pull a prank and be proud of everyone's laughter, but then maybe later, he'd realize that he shouldn't be proud of hurting someone's feelings for the sake of a joke. It was impossible to know in the moment if he'd always be proud of himself after the fact. James scrubbed his hands over his face, aware that Regulus and Sirius were waiting for him. _But, fuck it, _he told himself harshly. _Fuck your stupid pride. Maybe Imperius is Unforgivable, but you know what else's fucking unforgivable? What they all did to Sirius. How much pain he's in. That's what's unforgivable here. So, let's go be unforgivable ourselves._

* * *

><p>"FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, WHAT DID I POSSIBLY DO TO DESERVE A SON LIKE YOU?" Walburga Black shrieked, shoving her face an inch away from her eldest son's face, digging her red-nailed hands into his shoulders. Caught in his father's white-knuckled grasp, Sirius squirmed as his mother clawed him<em>, <em>and stared defiantly around at the horrified, (finally) silent party.

Across the room, Narcissa, covered in blood-red punch, sobbed in her mother's arms, as Malfoy alternated between apologizing profusely to her, and darting towards the captive Sirius with his hands outstretched, ready to throttle him.

Malfoy's face was crimson with fury and embarrassment, and yes, perhaps this is a bit unseemly, but James was utterly thrilled at the older boy's pained expression. James stood, straining against his own mother's gently restraining hands, silently imploring his father to intercede in this horrible, out-of-control scene. Because Sirius' parents were _livid._

* * *

><p>It had taken only a few short moments to utterly derail the social event of the season: Sirius had waited until Regulus and James had descended the sweeping staircase and split up to stand near their respective parents, to assuage any guilt-by-association. Then, Sirius had snuck halfway down the stairs himself, and secreted himself in the shadowy curve of the staircase. From across the room, James hadn't heard him whisper "<em>Imperius", <em>but Malfoy had suddenly leapt up on to the refreshment table, knocking platters of hors d'oeuvres to the floor. The clatter of cutlery and porcelain silenced the room, and the 12-piece orchestra twanged to a halt, as everyone waited for Malfoy to explain his utterly unexpected behavior.

Swiftly, Malfoy had reached down, snatched up the heavy crystal bowl filled with blood-red punch, and dumped it over his head. Screams and gasps rippled through the crowd, and James could see Regulus stuffing both fists against his mouth, trying to suppress his body-shaking laughter. Tears of glee poured from James' eyes, blurring Andromeda's triumphant smile and Malfoy's bemused expression and the puddles of punch pooling at his feet.

In the next second, Malfoy had leapt from the table and into the arms of his fiancée. Narcissa had held up her hands to stop him, but Malfoy had crashed into her, wrapping his sopping wet arms around her beautiful white dress, and trying to drag her out onto the empty dance floor. Narcissa had shoved him away, horrified at the blood-red stains seeping into her dress, and in full hearing of the cream of Wizarding society, Malfoy was heard to say to his (supposedly) beloved fiancée: "Fine. Be that way. I've always liked your sisters better anyway. Andromeda's far prettier, and Bella's much better in bed. You're nothing but a consolation prize."

The audience -rapt, obviously, because who doesn't love a good scandal- gasped, and clutched at each others' hands. Narcissa, her thin face contorted with rage and humiliation, had slapped Malfoy, and dived into the shelter of her mother's arms. Whispers had raced through the ballroom like wildfire, and in the stunned silence of the room, Sirius' raucous laughter could be heard echoing from his hiding place on the stairs. It had taken only a few more seconds before he was imprisoned in his father's grasp with his pointed chin raised, as if he wasn't actually terribly, _terribly _afraid.

* * *

><p>"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOUR BEHAVIOR, YOU LITTLE BASTARD," Walburga screamed, her voice making the thin glasses rattle. Suddenly, she spun to face her son, and raised her wand. "Let's see how <em>you <em>like the Unforgivables, Sirius," she murmured, her voice a scary fucking sing-song. Ellen Potter tightened her grip on James' shoulders.

"_Cruc-"_

"_Impedimenta_!" Shocked at the interruption, Walburga Black lowered her wand, and stared nonplussed at the woman who would dare to challenge her. Gingerly, Sirius peeked through his thrown up arms, and James could see how white and drawn his face was. But he too stared across the ballroom at the slender figure of his cousin Andromeda, her wand drawn and pointed at his mother, the echo of her spell still reverberating in the quiet room.

"Andromeda!" gasped Walburga Black, and stepped cautiously forward, as if she hoped that the girl had merely gone temporarily mad, and made a dreadful mistake.

"Leave him alone," Andromeda said calmly, as if she were explaining a simple potion recipe, and not battling her frenzied aunt. "It's my fault Sirius is behaving like this," she told the assembly. "You see, he's quite angry with me, and he's obviously taking it out on the family."

Slowly, Andromeda drew herself up, and smoothed down her navy velvet dress robes. She stared at the parquet floor, as if she might find inspiration, or perhaps a measure of courage, in the tiles. She touched the pocket of her dress robes, where James knew her two-way mirror was secreted. When she lifted her face, her eyes were blazing.

"Sirius is angry with me because I asked him to keep a secret for me. It wasn't fair of me, and I apologize, Sirius." She nodded toward her shivering cousin, who, even caught in his father's vise-grip, managed to sketch a hasty bow back to her.

"Mother, Father, Bella, Narcissa, everyone, I'm so sorry to make the announcement like this, but I'm pregnant." Every person in the ballroom, including the orchestra and the family portraits, gasped. Carefully, Andromeda looked at the faces of her family, as if she were trying to memorize them. As if she were afraid this was the last time she would ever see them. She swallowed tightly. "I'm going to marry the father. I, I love him. He works at the Ministry with me; we were at Hogwarts together. He's called Ted, Theodore Tonks." Andromeda Black took a deep breath. "He's a Muggle."

"Out. Get out. GET OUT!" Walburga Black suddenly screamed, her face a mottled purple. She pointed a shaking finger at the doorway, and as if Walburga's scream had restored the sound to the ballroom a furious furor began, as the party-goers nattered frantically about this troubling development.

"You're telling me to leave, Aunt Walburga?" Andromeda asked, and James was shocked to hear a hint of her earlier archness in her tone, as if the weight of her secret was finally lifted, and maybe she could find this overblown reaction just the slightest bit amusing. Andromeda exhaled slowly, and that glinting sliver of mirth disappeared. "You're telling me to leave, and to never return?" Still, Walburga's shaking hand pointed implacably at the empty doorway.

Carefully, as if moving too quickly might shatter some fragile balance, Andromeda turned away from her aunt. "And, does she speak for the whole, of my family?" she whispered, her voice choked with grief. No one answered her. (Well, no one answered her sucessfully: Orion clapped his hands over Sirius' mouth as Desdemona Black physically held Narcissa in place, so that neither Narcissa nor Sirius could stand by Andromeda.)

Andromeda sighed. Slowly, with her trembling hands clenched against the pocket of her dress robes, she walked across the floor. At the entrance to the ballroom she paused, and turned back. She squared her shoulders, and blinked against the haze of tears clouding her vision. Watching this small, finely-boned girl overturn a lifetime's worth of expectations in just a few seconds, James realized that he'd never seen anything so brave in his entire life.

"I love you, and I'll miss you," she told her family, not even trying to stop the tears that flowed down her face. "I'll miss you all, but I'm not sorry, because Ted is a good man, and this...this isn't fair. And you _know _that. And, you're doing it anyway. And, um, Narcissa," she paused, and gasped for a second, seemingly choked at the breadth of everything she was giving up. "I'm so sorry I ruined your party. I hope, I hope you have a long and happy life with Lucius. I love you." And with that, Andromeda Black left the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for the last time.

* * *

><p>"Andie! Andie! Come back! Please!" Narcissa's cries could still be heard as the shaken guests hastily exited 12 Grimmauld Place. In the rush to see everyone out the doors, comfort Narcissa, and prevent Bellatrix from immediately attempting to go and murder this Mudblood Tonks and bring Andromeda back, Sirius' crime and aborted punishment were completely forgotten.<p>

That night, Walburga Black burned Andromeda's name off the Black family tapestry. Her hands didn't shake, and her voice didn't waver, but the hole where Andromeda used to be smoked for days and days, and nobody could get it to stop.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Allegories Galore**

For Christmas, Lily Evans got a pile of books from her dad, a fabulous cognac-colored leather jacket from her mum, a lot of only moderately-hideous makeup from Petunia, a small, rather wonky teddy bear from Petunia's new boyfriend, Mark -who spent the holiday laboring under the delusion that Lily was rather unfortunately slow- loads of Honeydukes sweets from her Gryffindor girl year-mates, and two other presents.

* * *

><p>The first (other) present was wrapped in scarlet and silver paper, and arrived via Owl Post a whole week before Christmas. Lily's mother Violet managed to intercept the package before Lily could tear it open, and wagged her finger at her youngest daughter, before gently placing the perfectly-wrapped present under the tree.<p>

For the next week, Lily was convinced the scarlet-and-silver present was exuding some sort of consciousness-controlling odor. Whenever she stepped into the front room (in fact, whenever she descended the stairs, or sat at the kitchen table) her eyes were drawn to the package. On afternoons when her mother went into town for last minute shopping, Lily picked up the package and examined the edges and the ribbons, desperate for a clue as to the present contained in the pretty paper.

The seven days until Christmas dragged slowly by than ever before, even slower than the year she was 6 and knew her Grammy Rose had gotten her riding lessons at The Littlest Ponies Stable and literally could not wait to open the accompanying jodhpurs and riding helmet. _Finally, _Christmas morning arrived, and, Lily's mother, in a clear attempt to prolong Lily's agony, completely reversed the Evans' present-opening tradition, and invited the oldest person present to go first, rather than the youngest. Watching her grandparents, and then two pairs of her aunts and uncles slowly open their gifts and show them around the room was akin to torture. Waiting for the fucking half-hour it took for all 11 of the older guests to open their gifts, Lily carefully slid her fingernails into the paper, making tiny tears that she could more easily rip open when her turn arrived.

"Thank you, Mark," Petunia finally announced, leaning into her blithering idiot of a boyfriend for a kiss, and Lily had had e-fucking-nough.

"TomefromJames" she informed the room, then tore the thick paper from the box. No present was immediately visible- instead, a creamy card was taped to the top of the box. Deftly, Lily opened the card with one hand, leaving the other to absently peel packing tape from the heavy cardboard box that contained her James-present. She started to read the card to the room, but trailed off halfway through, when she got to the bit about the moon.

_Evans, at first, I was going to get you a gold charm bracelet, because it would've looked beautiful against your skin, and then I was going to get you all of Honeydukes' stock of Chocolate Frogs, because that's your favorite candy, and then seriously, Lily, I was going to get you the moon, to drag on a leash behind you or ride to class like a hot-air balloon, but then I thought you might think that all of that was showing off, so I got you this instead. I remember you said you loved this book, so I asked Remus how to make it special and he explained all about first editions and shit, so I hope you like this as much as I like you (even though that's impossible). Happy Christmas, _

_With love, _

_James_

With shaking hands, and flushing so hotly she could feel it creeping up her neck, Lily drew the book out of the delicately-scalloped tissue paper nest inside the packing box. "Oh, sweet Jesus," she whispered, and the low mutter of chatter stopped instantly.

"Sweetheart?" her father said, half-rising out of his chair.

Lily swallowed thickly, her heart banging in her chest. _How in God's name did everyone not hear it? _she wondered absently, tracing her fingers against the dark leather binding of her newly-crowned best Christmas present ever. "Umm, it's _Wuthering Heights,_ dad. But it's... it's a first edition, I think."

"Oh, Lily," her father gasped, dropping back into his chair. Lily drew a trembling hand under her eyes and carefully wrapped herself around her book. She could see the fatherly concern in her dad's eyes warring with his desire to grab the book and examine it for himself. "Who gave this to you, sweetheart? That's, I mean, that's quite a present!"

Completely against her will, Lily's eyes filled up with tears. _Stop crying, you're behaving like such a little idiot_, she told herself firmly, but James had told her he wanted to get her the moon, and he _had _gotten her a first edition of her favorite book ever, and that was better than the moon, and what's more, he had understood that. She used the hem of her flannels pajamas to wipe away her tears, and missed the proud-but-worried glance shared by her parents, and the way Petunia firmly straightened the rather hideous amber earrings Mark had just given her. "It's, from James, who's, _umm, _a friend? From school?"

Lily wouldn't let anyone else help her carry her gifts upstairs to her bedroom, so nobody would see how reverently she handled both her first edition book, and the card that had accompanied it. And of course, normally Christmas cards didn't have quite this much cursing, and normally they were written in a neater hand, but whatever. (Also, normally, people didn't keep dashing back up to their rooms to re-read Christmas cards, and normally, people didn't sleep with Christmas cards underneath their pillows, but again, what-the-fuck-ever.)

The second (other) present was dropped in the mailbox at some point while the Evans' were eating Christmas dinner. Normally, the giver wouldn't have just left her present in the mailbox, but normally the giver was actually invited to Christmas dinner. This year, not so much, and thus: present in the mailbox. It was wrapped in newspaper, and there was no addressee written on the outside, because everyone knew who it was from. Lily waited until everyone, full of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and Christmas cheer, had left her house before she let herself open it. Of course, _of-fucking-course_, it was a used, rather battered copy of _Wuthering Heights. _Lily actually did start crying when she saw Sev's present, but they were tears of frustration and tears of bitter disappointment at the wreck of the friendship and the fact that her best friend had put her present in the mailbox instead of ringing the bell.

Inscribed on the inside cover, in Sev's bold hand, was the message:

_Cathy, saw this on the shelf at the charity shop, and of course thought of you. It's been well-loved, again, like you. Happy Christmas, _

_Heathcliff _

Hmph. Carefully, Lily stood, and carried the charity-shop over to the trunk at the foot of her bed. Gently she lifted the lid, and placed Sev's book on top of the others in trunk. The trunk held all the books of her childhood- well loved, but outgrown. _I mean, _she told herself, scrubbing the tears out from under her eyes, _Cathy didn't marry Heathcliff, now did she? Nope, she picked Andrew Linton, because she was smart, and over that whole silly infatuation and was not a child anymore. _

And yes, ok, of course Sev's actually read _Wuthering Heights _whereas James probably couldn't pronounce either of those words, and of course Sev signed himself Heathcliff because _of course_ he would think of himself that way, but was that really what she wanted?

Because, maybe it's better to love the boy who buys you first editions of your favorite book, and not the boy who pretends to be a Wizarding version of a half-wild boy from the moor whose vengeful love destroyed whole generations of two families. Sev signed himself _Heathcliff, _but James signed himself _James_, because James doesn't need to pretend to be anybody else. The romance of James isn't dark and broody inscrutability- it's light and clear and perfectly on the surface. James wears his heart on his sleeve, yes, but all that really means is that he doesn't hide it, and doesn't make you come, perhaps futilely, search for it.

So the day after Christmas, Lily Evans sat up, pulled out stationary, embossed with her initials done in gilt, and wrote her thank you notes. Her mother had taught her that a lady always write prompt and gracious thank you notes. She wrote James' first. It only took her one try, and she had to write small, to fit everything she wanted to say on a single sheet of paper. It began: _Potter, I'm dying to know what charms would you've put on the bracelet? And, how, exactly, would you've gotten the moon for me? But mostly, James, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your wonderful present..._

She wasted half a notebook, trying to figure out what to write to Sev. In the end, she followed Emily Post's format, and simply wrote: _Dear Sev, Thanks very much for your present. It is lovely. It was so kind of you to think of me. Happy Christmas. Regards, Lily_.

She sent exactly the same note, minus the switch of a proper name, to Petunia's boyfriend Mark.

And when Lily packed her trunk to return to Hogwarts she piled father's books neatly in the bottom, and she laid her mother's leather jacket on top, to be proudly worn to the train station. She left her first-edition copy of _Wuthering Heights _in its place of honor on her nightstand, out of the reach of any stray rays of sun which might seek to fade the gilted lettering on the cover. She left Sev's book in her book trunk at the foot of her bed, and decided (endeavored) to forget about it.

* * *

><p>"James, James!" Lily called across the Common Room, smiling broadly to see how quickly he turned at the sound of her voice. Hogwarts had been back from the Christmas holidays for almost two days now, and in between emergency Quidditch practices and resumed prefect duties and all the homework James obviously hadn't done over the break, she hadn't had a moment to give him his Christmas present, or to properly thank him for hers.<p>

The Common Room was bustling, so Lily pointed up the momentarily deserted staircase leading to the dormitories, and she cheerfully linked her arm in his as they climbed. When they reached the landing to the 5th Year girls' dorm, Lily tugged on his arm, and James immediately paused. She grinned happily at him, and he grinned back and yes, this was the right choice. Andrew Linton, instead of Heathcliff.

Carefully, unsure exactly what she was doing, Lily put both hands on James' chest, marveling at how she could feel his heartbeat under her fingertips. "James," she said softly, "I just wanted to say thank you, truly, for your present. It was the best present I've ever gotten. I love it."

Wild, radiant happiness blazed in James' eyes, and Lily could feel her legs trembling. "Ok," she told him, "now I've got your present."

"Hey, Evans," he muttered, "you didn't have to get me a present. It's not-"

"Oh, shut up Potter," she said, afraid that she might lose her nerve if she stalled any longer. "Here it is. But first, close your eyes."

He did, immediately, unafraid that she would trick him or tease him or torment him. He trusted her.

She leaned into him, stretching up on her tiptoes, pulling him down by his tie. "Happy Christmas, James," she whispered, and kissed him.

Immediately, his hands flew out of his pockets and wrapped around her waist; he lifted her up, almost off her feet, and kissed her back.

She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and after a moment she couldn't tell which of them was kissing the other -she just knew she wanted it to keep going; that he would move his lips to her neck and his hands inside her robes, and her whole body shivered until she broke the kiss, gasping for breath. He kept her pulled against him, and his hands at the base of her spine felt electric, like sparks fizzing against her skin. Even through her robes she could feel how tightly he gripped, and the tension in his wrists as he tried not to yank her against him.

_How close would we have to be for me to feel if he's hard through these fucking robes? _she wondered, and then gasped when James' eyes widened sharply, and he drew a ragged breath.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, wildly embarrassed, wanting a little bit to flee but wanting a lot more to stay like this, with James' hands on her waist and his mouth against her hair, for the rest of the year. "Did I happen to say that out loud?" she asked him, trying for cheeky and clearly succeeding -she could see her reflection in his staring eyes.

"Oh, Merlin, please Evans, let that be my birthday present, or something, please..."

Lily laughed softly. She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either, and James, seeing that for exactly what it was, pulled her against him and kissed the top of her hair. "You give good Christmas presents, James," she told him, resting her head against his chest, keeping her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Shit, Lily," he murmured into her hair. "You give better ones."

* * *

><p>It took Severus Snape almost three weeks to find out that James Potter had given Lily Evans a first edition of <em>Wuthering Heights <em>for Christmas. He knew Potter had gotten her a wildly expensive present, because he heard some Gryffindor 3rd Years who had inexplicable crushes on Potter gossiping bitterly about it on the fourth day back from the holidays.

But it was Regulus Black who actually confirmed the who, what and how of Potter's present; Regulus had simply asked Sirius, but since Sirius didn't actually give a shit about some muggle author's hard-to-remember book title, it had took a while for Regulus to get his information straight.

When the younger Black brother finally told him, Severus shut his lips and clenched his fists, and tried to figure out some way to tamp down the fury and shame scorching through him. He'd never been able to before, but there's always hope, right? He stormed away from his informant, wishing fiercely that instead of exasperatedly throwing out Lily's stiff thank you note, he had actually incinerated it. Incinerated the note, and the idea that led him to buy a fucking charity-shop copy when Potter got her a first edition, and... while he was setting shit on fire, how about Potter himself? And also, -maybe- the moment he jumped out from behind a tree and told Lily Evans that she was a witch; the moment that he thought he might be able to keep her.

He didn't cry -just stormed around the Hogwarts grounds until dusk, brooding on the unfairness of it all. But, when the sun set, he was resolved. _If Potter's Linton, then I'm really Heathcliff, _he told himself fiercely. _And Heathcliff's really good at two things: 1) loving Cathy and 2) vengeance. So, let's see how fucking Linton likes it when somebody poisons his fucking dog. _He stared up at the castle, at the brightly-light window in the Gryffindor Tower that Lily was probably sitting behind. _I can do that, _he told himself. _It probably won't even be that hard. _The light in the maybe Lily-window went out.

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><p><strong>AN: Goodness, that was heavy-handed, huh? Well, what do you expect from a chapter that's already SUPER allegorical. Anyway, hope you liked it! Thanks so much for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Tales of Wolves **

It was a month whole into the new term before Severus finally stopped being a stubborn git (and Lily stopped being an even stubborn-er git who wouldn't even give him a chance to talk to her) and apologized.

They were (obviously) in Potions, and were (obviously) making the most fiddly and difficult potion of their OWL year thus far, and it made Severus' heart ache, to see how easily and deftly he and Lily worked around each other at their shared station, even when they weren't speaking. Because, this was how they'd become friends when they were children; before Hogwarts and House rivalries and blood purity bullshit, they'd spent hours on the banks of the stream near his house, playing in the mud and making concoctions which always seemed to taste better than dirt and crushed-up berries and river water should. _It was magic_, Severus told himself morosely. _It was magic in our mudpies and it was somehow magic in the air that let her play with me and laugh with me and love me. _

And thankfully, their years of working together, which normally made them the best pair in the class, also made them the best pair in the class that wasn't actually talking to one another. But even still, Severus knew to set a basin by her elbow as she disemboweled the great horned slugs before she even thought to ask, and when he turned around from mashing the ginger-root and juniper berries, Lily'd adjusted the fire and laid out a cauldron stirrer for him to use to scrape the mashed root and berries into their cauldron. Severus knew to take the delicate knife work for himself, and to let Lily count the number of clockwise stirs, because he always lost track. He let her handle the all the slimy bits because she so desperately hated them, but always wanted to prove that she was capable, and that she wasn't afraid. And she trusted him to keep them on track with the instructions, and to make any..._adjustments _which might in fact improve Borge's recipes.

She knew him, and he knew her, from the way she wrinkled her nose when she was counting to the way her hair curled from the steam, and this was so fucking stupid. This was so fucking stupid that he was denying himself the pleasure of her company and her conversation and her bad jokes and her smiles that made his stomach clench up. This was so fucking stupid, and this was over.

"Hey, Diamond Lil," he whispered, hating how raspy and weird his voice always sounded. Lily, Merlin love her, flinched almost imperceptibly, and barely missed a beat as she shook a dozen black beetles onto her workspace. She kept her head angled away from him, but Severus could see that she was deliberately ignoring him now, rather than unconsciously doing it, and that was absolutely an improvement because it meant he actually had her attention.

"Look, Lil, I can't believe how horrible this place is, without you. You make Hogwarts bright, for me. It was horrible, being at home with you for the holidays, and it's horrible being back, without you." _That's it, Sev, _he told himself. _She's nothing if she's not vain, and for fuck's sake, why shouldn't she be, but she loves shit like this. Makes her feel powerful. _And Severus could see a flush creep up her pale skin in response to his words, and it made him sick to his stomach, that he was doing this with such deliberate purpose. _I mean, yes, of course, I _feel _all this, but I'm only fucking _saying _it so this stupid girl that I've loved since we were 9 talks to me again. _

"I won't just let 6 years of friendship go, Lil," he said, and there was no artifice in this- he was deadly serious. She was his first friend, and his best friend, and he wouldn't give her up because of some nothing named James shithead Potter. He sighed. "Look, Lil, I get why you're angry with me, really-"

"Do you?" Lily snapped, pushing her hair back from her face with the back of her wrist, so the obsidian shards of beetle shell coating her hands didn't smear across her cheeks. Severus wanted to comb her hair back for her; he wanted to reach up and sweep up her thick fall of red-gold hair that always smelled of freesia and hold it in place at the nape of her neck. Normally, Severus didn't daydream -he didn't really see the point of it, because it didn't make any sense to waste time daydreaming about something when you could instead be out and working towards achieving it- but, on the rare occasions he did, he let himself imagine a world where Lily might let him follow her around and act as her hairband. He let himself imagine a world where he trailed along after her, one hand wrapped around her hair at the base of her neck, warm and sweet-smelling and always, so, so close to her.

But Severus didn't reach up to tie back her hair, because he actually lived in a world where James Potter would hex the shit out of him for putting his hands on Lily, and his Slytherin friends would hex the shit out of him for putting his hands on a Mudblood, and also, Lily was perfectly capable of fixing her own hair, Sev, and she didn't need him to do it for her, thank you very much. So instead, he sighed softly, and stared into her grass-green eyes, letting her see how perfectly [dis]honest he was being.

"You're mad at me, Lil, because you're afraid I don't value myself- that I don't think I'm worth anything. That I'm worth saving. You're afraid I don't love myself very much, and that I'll just...give up on myself." He rubbed at the skin under his eyes, as if he were in danger of crying in the middle of the Potions classroom, as if he hadn't learned when he was a little boy to always hold back tears even when it hurt beyond anything, because crying was unbearable weakness and he couldn't trust anyone to know that he was weak.

He could see Lily's hands clasped into the folds of her robe, as if she wanted to reach out and grab him in a hug, but was trying to prevent herself from forgiving him too quickly. And with that, Severus knew they were friends again, thank fucking Merlin, and he hated just a little that Lily had proved so easy to convince; that she hadn't seen straight through his semi-contrived speech.

_Because holy shit_, _Lily,_ he wanted to shout at her. _Don't you know? Don't you know that I know that I'm worth saving, because you saved me. I measure my self-worth in your regard for me, and when you're mad at me it's like I'm invisible. And if you leave me, it will be dark for invisible-fucking-me for forever._

But, again, Severus Snape lived in a world where nobody would let him walk around holding Lily Evans' hair back from her face, and he definitely didn't live in a world where he would ever declare his love for her in a crowded Potions classroom in front of her maybe-boyfriend who also happened to be one of his nemeses.

"C'mon, Lil," he murmured, and Lily's icy resolve melted. Giggling happily, she flung her arms around him, and Severus braced himself for her hug and the press of her tits against his chest and the smell of her neck that always made him want to wrap her up in his robes and run away from everyone and just spend the rest of his life sitting with her on their river-bank.

"Oh, Sev, I'm so sorry, too! I've hated not talking to you, and I'm so proud of you for being the bigger man and shit, and thank you for ending our stupid stalemate." She released him, and stepped back. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus could see Potter and Black at their station, not even pretending to do work anymore, but just staring at him, fury graven on their features. And, even better, Lily didn't realize Potter was pissed- so thankfully, she wasn't yet reflecting Potter's emotions the way he sometimes creepily did to her.

Biting her lip, Lily ran her fingers through her hair, and blinked rapidly. "Sev, I've got to talk to you, about...well, about James, and I need to ask you-"

"Umm...three drops of salamander blood, I think?" Severus nearly shouted, spinning away from Lily's hesitant salvo, scooping up the first ingredient he saw. He couldn't've cared less if it was actually supposed to go into their potion; if she thought he was going to listen to her talk about her fucking maybe-boyfriend, he'd rather drink this salamander blood and take the week of copious vomiting that was sure to follow.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sev," she murmured, and reached across him to slide the vial of salamander blood out of his clenched fist. "You're going to bust this." She curled her fingers around his fist. "And, you doofus, I'm not talking to you about James, I'm talking to you about you. Because, James is sweet, sometimes, and I guess he's trying to grow up, about 5 years too late, mind you, but here's the thing, Sev, he's not you. And I need you in my life." She stared up at him, and Severus's heart began to slow down. He could feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders, and he imagined that he might look a bit like a balloon deflating but he didn't give even the tiniest shit.

Slowly, underneath the desk where Lily couldn't see him, Severus un-wrenched his fingernails from where they were dug into the palms of his hands.

"Look, you idiot," she whispered, nudging her shoulder against his. "Please don't think that because I talk to James means that I _choose _him, or anything. I'm not picking anybody, and I'm not leaving anybody out. I'm just...making new friends, and keeping my old ones, ok?"

"Fuck, Lil," he snapped. "As if you can be his friend and also be-"

"Sev." She glanced meaningfully at the left side of the room, where all of the Slytherin Fifth Year was watching them make up with varying degrees of a disgusted smirk on their dungeon-dwelling faces. "I think we both have friends the other disapproves of, no?"

Exasperated, he ran a hand through his hair and glared at her. She was fucking right, and it's not like he could argue with that meaningful glance and the blood slurs his Slytherin friends tossed at her and the other Muggleborns.

_Fuck_, Severus thought morosely. Swiftly, he glanced to Potter and Black's astonishedly-angry faces, and abruptly, a smidgeon of his own anger floated away. _If you can't beat the fuckers, join 'em, eh? _

"Oh, Merlin, Diamond Lil," Severus whispered, careful to keep his face close to Lily's, but turned just enough so he could see Potter's stupidly-mad face. "You and your fucking meaningful glances."

* * *

><p>They carefully bottled a sample of their potion -mixing had been difficult, but decanting it was far worse, because it required a precision and sense of timing that few could match. But they'd practiced this, so he lifted while she ducked and scooped, and then she spun to hold the vial over an open flame while he prepared an ice bath for the final step. Severus smiled to himself as he wrote their names in his copperplate script on the outside of the vial- he predicted that that would get an Outstanding <em>which will perfectly match this Outstanding fucking day too, now won't it. <em>

Suddenly, a shadow fell across Severus' light, and he looked up with a sneer already curling his lips. Obviously it was Potter, and Severus almost growled to see how Potter casually lifted Lily's bag to his shoulder, not even smug that he, Potter got the chance to walk to dinner with her. _Tell him you can do it yourself, Lil, _Severus thought frantically. _That you don't need him to carry your shit for you, that you're a motherfucking adult and are perfectly capable, thanks very much, Potter. _

But Lily clearly wasn't even thinking about getting up on her feminist soapbox; she was far too occupied with looking worriedly between himself and Potter, clearly afraid there was going to be a problem. Severus could feel his sneer get deeper; if he said something to set Potter off, Lily'd be walking with _him _to the Hospital Wing, and Potter could go back to being the dirt on the bottom of her shoe that Severus was so happy to help her grind down.

_"_Snape." Potter nodded at him, and Severus flinched deliberately, communicating the weakness and vulnerability that he knew Potter couldn't resist. "Congrats, on your potion. It was tricky as fuck, but I bet you all got the only Outstanding." Potter looked at the rest of their class traipsing dispiritedly out of the room, and shook his head ruefully. "Actually, probably the only passing grade."

Carefully, Severus lifted his head, and looked at Potter. The dark-haired boy looked friendly and relaxed, and it was clearly fake but it was a damn good fake; enough to convince Lily that was at least _trying_. Severus wasn't sure how to respond to Potter's fucking friendship _overtures_, but then it was too late, because disappointment compressed Lily's hopeful smile, and she shrugged at Potter.

"Yeah, Sev," she said gently, and squeezed his hand. "We did do damn good. And," she leaned closer, "I'm so glad we're all fixed." She dropped his hand. Have a good dinner, Sev." Slowly, Severus gathered up this things, and Lily and Potter strolled out of the classroom, Lily's bag swinging across James' broad back.

"Hey, Potter," Lily murmured as they walked away from him, and it made Severus' skin crawl, to hear the way Lily said his fucking name. Normally, when she said "Potter" she spat it out, snapping the "tt's" and curling her lip. But not this fucking time, huh? "I'm really proud of you, you know?" she said, and then they were out the door and around the corner and the flagstone of the hallway was impenetrable, and she was lost to him.

And Severus knew that he should try to be happy that she seemed happy when she was around Potter, but it was fucking _Potter_ and it was the worst thing in the world. Because Potter was everything that Severus wasn't and never would be, and if she wanted Potter she would never want him, would she.

There was nobody in the room now- all the stragglers had left and Slughorn had waddled back into his office the moment class let out, and because he was alone now and there was no one to betray him (except himself, of course), he dropped his aching head into his hands and dugs the heels of his hands into his eyes. A pressure headache thrummed at his temples, and just a little bit, he wanted to walk over to the coldest, harshest corner of this cold, harsh dungeon and curl up there until well past graduation. But, that was not the way of the Snapes, and it absolutely wasn't the way of Slytherin House.

"You don't get everything, Potter," he muttered bitterly to the empty room. Grudgingly, embarrassed at the scene he was[n't] making for no one, he scrubbed his hands across his face. "Fuck. You might get _my _everything, but you don't get _everything_, you motherfucking fucker, I fucking promise you that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**1) I started this story because I wanted to write about why/how Sirius would send Snape down under the Whomping Willow to meet Remus-the-werewolf, and why Snape would go, and why James would rescue him, and then, how the Marauders would deal with Sirius' betrayal. This is (finally) going to happen in the next, and possibly (if I can't control myself and need two chapters) the second to next chapter. Haha, so, these 20 preceding chapters were all context, I guess. **

**2) The title comes from a lyric to one of my new favorite songs which goes: "and how could anybody stumble into loving me/when I've told tales of wolves since I could speak"**

**3) Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Apogee**

"No History, today, Padfoot?" James asked, sprawled upside down off the edge of his favorite sofa in the Common Room. Lily had left for class 15 minutes ago, clucking her tongue at him and sidestepping his sweeping arms stretched out for her, determined to set him a good example. Wormtail'd left almost 10 minutes later, only after his perpetual struggle over skiving off versus attending class had played itself out so clearly over his open-book face. And when he did finally choose to dash off to class, Wormtail had scrambled out of the Portrait Hole, nearly knocking Sirius over as Sirius climbed lazily through. Sirius had immediately joined James, chucking his bag in the direction of the dormitory stairs and draping himself over the opposite sofa.

Sirius opened his eyes slowly, peeling one lid up at a time, to better communicate how abhorrent he found the idea of attending class.

"Prongs," he drawled, "firstly, is there _ever _History? When's the last time I went to that abomination of a class? Secondly, it's Moony's time of the month and we're going to be out late babysitting him tonight, and I think we'd better serve our Hogwarts peers by having a nap." He started laughing, and being upside down, choked on it. "Merlin knows if we _go _to class we'd only distract everyone with our _highjinks_," he finished, in a perfect imitation of McGongall's brogue. "So, naps."

James smirked. "But, Padfoot, lookit, if we-"

Suddenly, the Portrait hole swung open, and a tiny pile of black robes and dishwater blonde hair tumbled through. The girl landed in a heap on the ground, and didn't get up. Unsurprising, Sirius didn't move, but James, Lily's admonitions to _Be KIND to First Years, not ABOMINABLE, YOU STUPID PRAT _flying through his mind, leaped off his couch and hurried over to her.

Gently, he untangled her heavy bag from her thin shoulders and pulled her to her feet. "Don't worry," he told her easily, making light of it. "It happens to everyone. Merlin, I fell through last week and-"

The girl -and James wanted beat the shit out of himself for not knowing her name- flinched away from him, yanking her arms out of his hands and cradling them against her chest as if they hurt her. Her frantic eyes darted between the wand tucked into his trouser pocket, his hands still held up towardS her, and the stairs to the dormitory, all the way across the Common Room. James knew that he was rather good-looking (Lily'd told him only this morning that she quite liked his jawline and his shoulders and his hands and the trail of dark hair that led from his bellybutton down into his boxers that he wished with all his fucking might she would follow) and he knew that sometimes younger students were intimidated by older ones (which had never happened to James in his entire life -probably because he'd used up all his intimidation on a tiny redhead who was five months younger than him) but this was weird, and wrong. This tiny girl looked fucking terrified, and worse, she looked like she was in pain.

Concerned now, James crouched down, and held out his hand to her. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured. "My name's James. What's yours?" He kept his voice soft, and tried to make himself look small and unthreatening. Slowly, carefully, the girl reached out and pressed her fingertips against his palm, then jerked her hand back against her chest.

" 'm Carey," she whispered.

"It's really nice to meet you, Carey," James told her. "I think you have a really pretty name." Usually girls' faces lit up when he complimented, but not this tiny, trembling one. _Fuck, Potter, don't be an arse, figure out what's wrong and help her, _he yelled at himself. He took a deep breath. _And _how _do you fucking do this exactly, _he wondered helplessly.

"Um, Carey? Are you ok? Did something happen? To you?" He bit his lips, casting around for something to fucking say. "Um, need me to hex somebody for you?"

Her eyes closed, and thin tears spilled silently from underneath her pale lashes. She hugged herself tighter, and shook her head.

_Fuck, this was hard. _"Uh, sweetheart, I don't mean to be an ars-, uh, a jerk, but it looks like something did happen. It looks like you're hurt. Please, let me help you. We'll bring you to the Hospital Wing, and Pomfrey'll fix it right up. She's great, she-" He trailed off,

Carey's eyes had snapped open, and she was shaking her head from side to side, so fast her whole body vibrated. "No, no, we can't, he said I can't-"

James froze. "_Who_ said you can't, sweetheart?" he asked. "Who's this "he" that said you can't go to the Hospital Wing?" He tried mightily to keep the icy rage out of his voice, but she took a half-step back from him, so maybe he didn't do too well.

Her eyes bulged, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. Her chest heaving, she struggled to breathe through her white-knuckled fingers.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, calm down..." James gasped. When she lifted her hands to her mouth, the sleeves of her too-big robe had fallen away from her wrists, revealing pale, skinny forearms dotted with raw, red abrasions.

Fury roiled in James' stomach, and he choked down the bile that rose in his throat. _Maybe this is the wrong way to do it, Potter, but stop being such a fucking pussy. She needs _help_. _

_"_Carey," he said flatly. "I can see your arms, I can see those cuts. Something fucking happened to you." He tried to make his voice less harsh. "Please, sweetheart, let me help you."

Slowly, Carey drew herself up, and James felt tears spring to his eyes- he could _see_ the fucking Gryffindor courage stiffening her spine, and he was never in his life more goddamned proud of being a Gryffindor than in this moment. Carefully, she unclasped the robe from around her throat and let it fall to the ground.

Shocked, James rocked back on to his heels. Her sweater was gone, leaving her in her white shirt and skirt and tights. But the sleeves of her shirt and her tights hung from her skinny limbs in tatters, and holes dotted her torso and thighs, with purpling bruises festering there. She stood before him, her shoulders shaking with pain, letting him look at the horror some other student in _his fucking school_ had wrought upon her.

James threw up. He stood up and lurched away from her and threw up into the fireplace. The bite of the bricks felt good on his knees, and he would have stayed there forever, if it meant never having to see this battered little girl again. But, when he finally got up the courage -_you fucking pussy, she's braver than you and she's fucking 11-_ Sirius was kneeling before her.

Carey was clearly afraid of Sirius; even though James'd literally just vomited upon seeing her, she still inched towards him, and wouldn't look Sirius in the eye.

"Hey, bud," Sirius murmured, holding his hands out to her. "C'mere. Let me see your arms, ok?" Carey didn't move. "I know, I know." Sirius' normally mirthful face was twisted in sympathy. "I know, it hurts so bad. The stomach's the worst, isn't it? 'Cause you can't breathe when it hits you, and then you don't want to, 'cause it feels like you're on fire." Carey's eyes snapped up to his face and Sirius nodded grimly at her. Hesitantly, she showed him her arms. Sirius looked carefully at the raw wounds on her arms, and then at the shiny burns on her stomach through the holes in her shirt.

He looked her in the face, and this time she didn't look away. "It was silent, right? So you didn't know how to block it? And it feels like a punch from a stone fist, and that's awful, but then it burns and burns and it won't stop. And you can't breathe. You can't think, you can't move, until he's done with you."

And James, who had been so content to let Sirius take the lead with this, threw up again. It was more contained this time: he'd emptied his stomach before, so he had nothing to bring up, but still he hated himself for dry-heaving like a little bitch as Padfoot and a fucking-11-year-old-girl talked about whether it was worse to get it in the softness of your stomach or directly on the bone.

_Man the fuck up, Potter_, he growled at himself, and dragged his hands down his face, trying to restore his shattered equilibrium.

"Hey, Carey," he said. "I'm so proud of you, for telling us this. And now, we're gonna bring you to the Hospital Wing, because I don't care what the motherfucker that did this to you said, but first, sweetheart, who was it? Who hurt you?"

Carefully, she lifted her hand, and pointed at Sirius. "Him," she whispered, and her voice was strong and sure.

Sirius didn't even blink. "No, Carey," he said. "I didn't do this to you. Trust me, I know what this fucking feels like...and I would never use it on someone. It wasn't me."

"It was you. But you, shorter. And shorter hair. And...a Slytherin tie."

* * *

><p>"It's called the <em>Infrigo <em>Curse," Sirius ground out through clenched teeth, as they flat-out ran through the castle towards the library. Once Carey had been delivered into the comforting hands of Pomfrey, Sirius' expressionless mask had cracked and fallen, exposing the manic fury contorting his face.

"He knows...he fucking _knows_ how much I hate that fucking curse, Prongs," Sirius almost moaned as they shouldered through people streaming out of classes and towards the Great Hall. Suddenly, the double doors of the library loomed ahead of them, and James realized if he let Sirius face Regulus right now, there would be a scene that Sirius might (the stupid boy did love making scenes, but not so much scenes about how his family's abuse made him rather touchy about this particular curse) regret later. So, he grabbed Sirius by the back of his robe and bundled him into the boys' toilet that faced the library. Thank fucking Merlin, it was empty, and James managed to magically lock the door _and _turn around in time to stop Sirius from putting his fist through the mirror.

Sirius' face was anguished, and he could barely speak. "Prongs, I...I fucking _pissed _myself, ok, the first time my fucking father _Infrigo_'d me. I... put gravel in my mother's birthday cake and he caught me and did it til I pissed myself and begged him to stop. _Fuck, _Prongs, half of Slytherin was there- why d'you think fucking Malfoy calls me 'his little pisser' every time he saw me?"

Sirius dropped his head, so ashamed of his revelation, and James couldn't figure out what to do. Should he go throw his arms around Sirius, or was Sirius _too _embarrassed to be comforted? He'd never felt so at sea around his best friend and brother, and Sirius was a boy who fucking _gloried_ in upsettling people.

Because they _were _like brothers, and James knew Sirius loved him maybe more than he loved anybody with the surname 'Black' and definitely more than he loved himself, but also, they _weren't_ brothers, actually. Because if James had put gravel in his mother's birthday cake his father would have sent him to his bedroom until the party was over and then would have explained to him that James had hurt his mother's feelings, and that you must _always _treat people with respect, particularly the people that you love and that love you, but also _everyone else_, because that's how men should behave, son. James's father certainly wouldn't have cursed him until he pissed himself in front of the entire party, and the fact that Sirius knew how it felt to be that hurt, and that helpless and that humiliated made James want to rip all Sirius' memories out of his head and replace them with his own.

But this was Sirius, so fuck all this noise about being afraid or uncertain; whatever James did would be exactly what Sirius needed. The-fucking-end.

"Padfoot, mate," James whispered. "What d'you want to do?"

* * *

><p>They waited for Regulus in a shadowy corridor near the stairs he would take from the library to the dungeons. James spent the first hour planning out how he would deal with whatever Slytherin friends Regulus had with him, because Sirius was clearly going to go straight for his brother. But, as the shadows lengthened, and more students walked past their silent hiding spot, James let himself hope Regulus wouldn't be surrounded by friends -just moderately beset by them.<p>

But they lucked out: when Regulus Black walked quickly past their corridor, he was blessedly alone. "_Silencio! Accio Regulus Black_," Sirius whispered harshly, and with a choked-off cry, Regulus came spinning out of the main hallway and down into the shadows of their corridor.

Regulus' frightened face collapsed into pure, guilty terror when he saw who'd Summoned him bodily, and this was clearly sufficient confirmation of Carey' accusation for Sirius, who slammed Regulus into the stone wall with an inchoate roar and snapped his wand against his little brother's throat. "You piece of motherfucking shit," he spat, his mouth an inch from Regulus' forehead. "How fucking dare you do that to her! To a little fucking girl!"

"Sirius! I'm sorry!" Regulus choked out, trying miserably to shove his brothers hands off his shoulders. "I had to! I _had _to!"

"Were you _Imperiused_? A wand to your throat?" Regulus didn't respond, and Sirius shoved him into the wall again. "No? Then you fight, you piece of shit! You fight, so nobody can make you hurt people that're smaller than you! The fuck is wrong with you." His hands closed on Regulus' throat, wand forgotten on the floor, and James decided he would pay careful attention to Regulus' color; it it turned too worryingly white, James _might _remind Sirius to loosen his hands. Or, then again, maybe he wouldn't.

"Siri, _Siri,_" Regulus gasped, and Sirius didn't move his hands a bit. "Sirius, it was Snape. He told me...I had to. He said, it was necessary...that I needed to do it."

James flinched, and a cold stone dropped into this pit of his stomach. Maybe Regulus was lying, but he'd just said the single name that could turn Sirius' fury away from him; Sirius would be fucking thrilled to blame this on Snape.

Slowly, Sirius unwrapped his hands from his brother's throat. "Snape, _Snape _fucking did this? To the little girl?" he growled.

Regulus' eyes flicked sideways to James. "Well, um, no, he.. didn't, exactly. But he told me that I had to! That I needed to prove myself as a Slytherin. That I couldn't be in the House if I didn't. That..., um, they were going to hurt me, if I didn't."

The cold stone in the pit of James' stomach doubled in size. Regulus was clearly lying, and Sirius was clearly believing him, probably because it was so much easier to believe in Snape's monstrousness than to realize that your little brother was using one of your parents' torture-curses on First Year girls. James stepped forward, ready to tell Sirius this -the relationship of the Black brothers be damned- but Sirius had backed away from Regulus. His shoulders had relaxed, and the fury he'd been giving off all day was gone; replaced by exasperation.

"Shit, Reg," Sirius murmured. "When the big kids tell you to do shit you don't want to do, tell them to fuck off." He sounded as if he was talking to a 5 year old, but Regulus was almost 14, not 5, and he should not be allowed to get away with this, just because Sirius didn't want to end his final familial relationship.

"I know, Siri," Regulus answered him, sniffling like a little kid, and James wanted to fucking shake some sense into Sirius. Didn't he see that Regulus was playing him? This contrition shit was all a fucking act; Regulus would never have knelt down to help Carey the way Sirius had. In-fucking-fact, it was Regulus who'd _caused_ the kneeling and the pain and the humiliation.

"S'ok, Little King," Sirius told his brother tiredly. But it wasn't. It wasn't fucking ok.

* * *

><p>They walked slowly back to the Common Room, weighted down by their emotional afternoon, and the decisions they still had to make. James was about to suggest stopping in and seeing how Carey was when Sirius laughed bitterly to himself.<p>

"I'm gonna skin him, Prongs," Sirius muttered. "Gonna rip his fucking greasy skin off his body. Make him bleed. He thinks he can do this to my brother..."

James stopped and pulled himself back from his (constant) place at Sirius' left shoulder, and stared at his best friend. Sirius was shaking with fury, maybe even worse than a few minutes ago, when he'd first confronted Regulus.

"I mean, you'd be doing the world a service, mate, but Padfoot, Reg's almost 14. He's halfway to a grownup. He knows right from wrong, better than you do. Better than I do, for fuck's sake. And, Merlin knows he can stand up to you, and to your scary fucking family, so I think he can withstand a little pressure from fucking Snape."

Sirius' face went dark and frightening and so fucking bleak. "The fuck are you saying, Potter?" he snapped, and James almost flinched, to hear Sirius call him that, instead of Prongs or Jimbo or Jamie or Jamesie-kins, but that wasn't a good enough reason to shut up.

"You're gonna have to come to terms with it, Sirius," James told him firmly. "Reg made this choice on his own. He decided to hurt Carey. It doesn't matter what Snape said to him; he did this on his own. You can't be mad at Snape, especially if it suddenly fucking means you're not mad at Reg anymore. It's not that easy, Padfoot."

Sirius wrenched himself away from James. "The, the fuck?" he spluttered, holding his hands protectively in front of his chest, as if to keep James from coming any closer.

"Look, mate, this is hard to hear, I get it, but Reg made a choice. Just like you made a choice, when you were 11, to shuck all your family's bullshit. You were three years younger than he is, Padfoot. You can't put this all on somebody else, and take it off him. You can't just blame Snape for-"

"Oh, fuck you, Potter!" Sirius nearly shouted, and James paused, uncertain why Sirius'd spun from angry disbelief to livid fury. "This is all because of your ginger fucking twat! You don't want to fucking eviscerate Snivellus 'cause it'll be that much harder for you to get into her knickers! Well fuck that, and fuck me for thinking you'd have my back when you've got to keep her happy!"

And it was, of course it was, but it also wasn't, really. Because James would have made this speech regardless of what Slytherin Regulus named- because it may have been somebody else's idea, but the little fuck went along with it. He picked out the victim and he tricked her away from her friends and worst of all: he held the wand that did the torturing. Regulus had made a motherfucking choice.

And Sirius had made a different one, at an even younger age. James remembered his own Sorting: the Hat barely touched his head because all James could think was _GryffindorGryffindorGryffind or_, but he didn't remember for how long Sirius'd sat under the Hat, only the uproar that followed after its announcement.

But see, one night just before the Christmas holiday in their Third Year, Sirius, still hammered from the Tower party, had bolted from their dormitory without shoes or James' cloak, so of course, James had dashed after him. They'd chased each other around the school, and finally ended up at the Astronomy Tower. Huddled under James' cloak, shivering as the icy wind whipped through the arrow-slits, Sirius' head had lolled onto James' shoulder, as if, after partying all night, he finally couldn't be bothered to be a maniac anymore.

They'd talked -at least, James had talked, telling Sirius stories about his cousins and their yearly Christmas morning Quidditch battles as everyone tried out their new gear, and how they all dragged themselves into the dining room when the sun set to gorge themselves on his grandmother's incredible Christmas feast. James had talked until he thought Sirius'd fallen asleep, so he flinched when Sirius suddenly drew a ragged breath and slurred "fuck, Prongs, I don't wanna go back. Christmas at mine isn't...well, it's, not like yours."

But back then James was only halfway cognizant of the depths of the Blacks' fucked-upedness, so he'd merely said: "Still pissed about you getting Gryffindor, are they?"

Sirius had laughed, a quick, bitter laugh that had echoed in the silence of the Tower. "You know, my psycho of a mother tried to have me re-Sorted. She showed up here, shrieking that the Hat fucked up, and I would sit under the fucking thing until it Sorted me properly."

Shaking his head, Sirius'd kept his eyes averted, as if he were embarrassed and he'd gulped, as if this were hard to say. "But, see, it didn't fuck up, Prongs. I _asked _for Gryffindor." He'd chuckled, but it hadn't been funny. "I wanted Gryffindor. I asked it to put me in Gryffindor."

James had been gobsmacked. Because Sirius, as "Black, Sirius", got Sorted into Gryffindor before almost anyone else. He was Sorted there before James; before Moony, who'd made him laugh on the train with his gravely droll impressions of the other students, before Lily; who Sirius'd stared at admiringly as she marched out of their Express compartment, telling James he loved to be told off by a girl with a temper. Sirius was a Gryffindor before any of the rest of them, and it was by _his _choice; it was his decision to abandon his family's poison and make a new family for himself. Sirius had made a choice, and Regulus could make some fucking choices too, instead of slithering around behind Snape and his cronies like a little snake.

Because this was James' favorite thing about Sirius; it was the thing that compelled him to turn to Sirius as Sirius lay in mute anxiety in their new beds the night of their Sorting and whisper, "well done, mate." It was this that allowed James to let off the Filibuster's that he (of course) happened to have in his pocket the next morning at breakfast, to clear the Great Hall of the shrill screams of Sirius' mother's Howler. And it was this that allowed James to forgive Sirius when he fucked up and wore his Black inheritance a little too fiercely. Like right now.

James sighed. "Padfoot, look-"

"Fuck you, Potter. _Fuck you_. I need you, and you're fucking defending _Snivellus Snape_. Because of some bitch who, by the way, will never love you like you love her. Fuck that. And fuck you."

Sirius turned away, his arms wrapped around his body -the same way that Carey had hugged herself in the Common Room that morning -as if he were trying to keep his guts from spilling out of his chest and onto the floor. He strode away and he didn't look back, and James didn't follow him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And, don't worry, the Willow prank is the very next chapter. Haha, I feel like a jerk for leaving Sirius and James all angsty and apart over Christmas, but, such is life for our Marauders! Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and I'm so thankful you're reading! I'd love to hear what you think! **


	22. Chapter 22

**The Drop **

When James got back to the Gryffindor tower, the Fat Lady wouldn't open for him. Instead, she pulled her pudgy shoulders up, scowled officiously, and pointed back down the corridor, roughly towards the heart of the castle.

"Professor McGonagall has requested that I send you and Mr. Black to her office, to discuss why you failed to attend her class today." She shook her head, and James sighed gustily. _Fuck_, he thought. _It's one thing to miss History, since that doesn't count for shit, and anyway Binns thinks my name is Pennyfeather, but McGongall's going to be...irate_.

"Right. Thanks, then." He turned slowly away, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed until it was time to meet Peter and Sirius at the Whomping Willow to go and attend to Moony's furry little problem, but apparently the universe wasn't cooperating with what James Potter wanted today. He picked up the pace, the Fat Lady's scolding echoing over his shoulder, and for a second he imagined what it must be like to be a Muggle, at a Muggle school, where none of the portraits could yell at you, or serve as messengers for professors who were desperate to punish you. _Must be easier for a bloke to avoid detention_, he thought ruefully, but then shook his head frantically, as if trying to clear even the barest possibility that _maybe_, being a Muggle might, in some tiny way, be better than being a Wizard.

Because yes, Muggles had better music and they had fast food and films and cigarettes and Muggle girls didn't wear heavy black robes that disguised every possible curve but instead wore clothes that made James and Sirius and Peter sometimes stop in the street and stare when they visited Moony, but whatever. They didn't have Quidditch and they didn't have Zonko's and they didn't have Apparition and they didn't have _Magic_, except for in stories, and it must be utterly heartbreaking to be a Muggle, to read about magic but to never have it for themselves.

James knew that Lily had an older sister who didn't really talk to her anymore, and of course she didn't. Because how could her sister possibly be ok with the fact that Lily suddenly, because of some accident of genetics or destiny, had _magic fucking powers_. Of course her sister didn't talk to her. How could anyone stand knowing that Magic was real, and knowing that they were denied it?

He turned the corner at the end of the dusky corridor, snapped off a wave through a tall window to the Whomping Willow that he knew was hidden behind the whole west wing of the castle, and knocked smartly on McGongall's door.

Even before he had pulled his knuckles back, the door flew open, and James blinked in surprise to find McGongall on the threshold. She stepped back, giving him permission to enter her office, and James walked inside.

He headed toward her desk, but she put an arm out, and gestured at the plaid armchairs drawn up before the fireplace instead. Surprised, James dropped gratefully into one of the chairs, cursing, as always, how McGongall always had the the most uncomfortable fucking furniture. She sat across from him, and nodded grimly at him. Her face was inscrutable, but she didn't look angry; she looked tired, and frustrated, and maybe a little bit afraid? James sat up straighter- anything that had McGongall afraid was definitely something that required his full attention.

She gestured to a plate of biscuits on the table, and James took one hesitantly, wondering for an instant if there was Veritiserum baked into the oatmeal cookie.

"Mr. Potter, I was going to admonish you for failing to attend class today, but I just returned from the Hospital Wing." James swallowed tightly, and felt his face morph from polite confusion at the surprise civility of this meeting thus far into something that probably resembled McGongall's tight mask. He nodded grimly, and she continued. "I am happy to inform you that Carey Aberdeen will be fine, after another day or so. Madam Pomfrey has healed her abrasions, and she will released tomorrow evening."

James sighed, glad to know that there would be no lasting damage, but uncertain, actually, that that was true. You can't be tortured by a fellow classmate, in a classroom in a school that was supposed to be the safest place on Earth, and come away with without scars of some kind.

"I understand that you and Mr. Black were the ones who found her, and who brought her to the Hospital Wing, earlier today."

James opened his mouth to apologize for missing Transfiguration, expecting that was what she wanted to hear, but McGongall held up a bony hand. "Please, Mr. Potter, ministering to Ms. Aberdeen takes precedence over a class. Even my class," she said grimly, and James smiled weakly.

McGongall stared into the crackling fire for a bit, and James wondered absently if she could see anything in the flames. McGongall obviously had no patience for Divination -not that he did either- but his father sometimes did the same thing. As if he were looking for answers in the snapping wood and tumbling coals.

Abruptly, she lifted her head, and hit him with her piercing gaze. "Madam Pomfrey did not manage to ascertain _who _had done this, to Ms. Aberdeen. I assume that you and Mr. Black are both somewhat more persuasive, and somewhat less, threatening, that Madam Pomfrey." She stared into his eyes, and James felt hypnotized. Apparently she didn't need any Veritiserum in her biscuits to get him to spill his guts. "I would like you to tell me who is responsible for this."

Nearly squirming under her stare, James frantically wracked his brain. There was no reason why he shouldn't tell her, but Sirius would be furious at him for ratting on his little brother... His little brother, who had spent the morning torturing an 11-year old girl. _Fuck that_, James decided. _Better a rat than a fucking snake._

"It was Regulus Black, ma'am," James said, proud that his voice didn't waver even a little bit.

Maybe she caught the bitter curl of her lip, because she frowned. "And, did you and Mr. Black already address your anger with Regulus' actions, to him?"

James smirked, and McGonagall stamped her foot. "Injury does not beget injury!" she snapped. "Vigilante justice is not actually justice, Mr. Potter! You should have told me, and I would have taken care of it, through the proper channels."

James jumped up from his chair, almost knocking the end table with the biscuits off its thin legs. "Professor, this is just the beginning! It's only going to get worse! He's probably actively recruiting at Hogwarts, and half the Slytherins already lean that way anyway. People can't...they can't get away with hurting other people, just 'cause they're weaker!"

McGongall slowly stood, and stepped forward until she could meet his eyes squarely. James thought, for one wild second, that she might try to hug him, but instead she just smoothed down her robes. "I understand your fury, Mr. Potter. It is a monstrous thing, and the fact that a student in this school could do such things...it does not bode well. His influence is getting stronger, even at Hogwarts. But it is not so strong that we cannot combat it still, and we cannot stoop to his level. I will deal with this, and Mr. Black will be severely punished."

She walked carefully over to her office door, and in that walk James could see how old she really was, and how tired, and how she might talk about proper channels and procedure but actually, she was ready for this fight. And she knew it would be bloody.

She swung the door open, and James snatched up his bag and stalked over, not even bothering to say goodbye. Just as he stepped past her, she took a deep breath. "An eye for an eye leaves everyone blind, James," she murmured, and closed the door behind him.

Still fuming, James nearly sprinted up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower. He felt unsteady on his feet- so big and roiling was his anger. _Somebody's got to stop him. We can't have this shit here, or anywhere, really. Can't let people be afraid._ He spun around the corner, and skidded through a patch of moonlight shining on the stone floor from a window high in the wall. He paused for a second, and looked out the window. The Willow was clearly visible from this point in the castle, and he sent a silent prayer down to Moony, who was probably neatly folding his clothes and tucking his socks into his shoes, before he ripped open his skin to become the Wolf. _Maybe, _maybe_, this was the downside of Magic. If Magic is real, that means the villains in the storybooks are real too, and that someone's got to fight them, and to try defeat them_.

* * *

><p>Sirius wasn't in the Common Room when James finally got back, and he hadn't been heard from all day. Peter and James posted themselves up on adjacent sofas, and kept checking the windows, watching as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky. He could feel Peter's eyes on him every few minutes, as they wondered just how long they should wait for Sirius. Just how long Moony could last, before he, frantic for blood and pain, bit and scratched himself and bloodied.<p>

James was furious. He sat with Lily's feet in his lap, and it only moderately registered when her calves brushed up against him. Normally, whenever Lily did anything remotely arousing, James could think of nothing but that; but right this second, he was too angry with Sirius' callous disregard for Moony to really focus on the weight and warmth of Lily's perfect, freckled legs in his lap.

Because, while Padfoot and Prongs were both big and strong and somewhat negated the danger of the Wolf, they couldn't control Moony, exactly. It was more that their bulk was enough to direct him as he ran through the forest- away from unicorns or the Acromantula den deep in the heart of the forest. They were Moony's pack, and they let him retain some self-conception, so he didn't succumb completely to the mindlessness of the Wolf. But, see, Padfoot was a dog, and while he wasn't nearly as viscous and scary-looking as Moony, he was close enough that they could wrestle and roll around together, and Moony often played with Padfoot until he ended up with Padfoot's neck lightly clenched in his razor-teeth. Those were the only times James could remember Sirius submitting with anything approaching grace, and their spontaneous wrestling matches seemed to help tire Moony out, so he wouldn't go looking for anything else to hurt.

But Prongs was a stag, not a dog or any other type of canine, and Moony wasn't quite so in control of himself to ignore the evolutionary pull that Prongs was supposed to be his _prey_. Plus, Peter always rode on James' back (ostensibly because it would be dangerous for him to get in the literal middle of Moony and Padfoot but actually because it was never even an option that Sirius would consent to carry him). So, tonight, they sat in the Common Room and waited impatiently for Sirius to get his head out of his arse long enough to remember that he bloody well had commitments.

Lily turned a page in _1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi_, and almost unconsciously shifted herself just a little closer to him. He shivered, and ran his hands up and down her shins. She was wearing tights but even through the nylon he could feel the fragility of her bones and for Merlin's fucking sake did he want to pull these fucking tights down her legs with his teeth. Suddenly, that was all he could think about- the only thing in his otherwise quite busy mind, and yet again, it amazed him. It amazed him just how much he wanted this girl, and how she could drive every other thought from his head just by turning a page in a book. It amazed him how she could calm him down and work him unbearably up all at the same time.

Just then, the Fat Lady swung open, and James could see Peter leap to his feet. Clearly, Sirius had finally decided to make an appearance, and Peter was ready to go and join Moony. But James shook his head slightly- it would never do to make it _so _obvious that the three of them were heading out together on a full-moon night when Remus was mysteriously absent, as he had been every full-moon night for the past 5 years. Slowly, Peter sank back into his seat, and Sirius wended his way through the crowded common room over to James' and Lily's sofa.

He perched on the edge, and all the anger from their fight in the corridor seemed drained away, replaced by smirking contentment. _He was probably fucking some bird, _James raged silently_, while Moony is suffering without him. That fucking bastard._

"Lose track of time, Padfoot?" James asked, endeavoring to keep his sex-suspicions out of his voice.

Sirius grinned. "Not exactly. Ran into Snivellus in the Entrance Hall, and had to take care of a few things."

James felt Lily stiffen, but she held her tongue, perhaps finally aware that haranguing Sirius had zero effect on his behavior.

"What happened, mate?"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, and squared his shoulders. "Not much. Told him he was a disgusting little coward, to get kids to do his dirty work and torture little girls. A bit more in that line." There was grim pleasure in Sirius' eyes, and he was clearly reveling in his recitation. Sirius shook his head. "He was _pissed_, Prongs. I mean, we've done some, uh, not so nice shit to him, and I've never seen him look like this." He cackled. "It was _great_."

"Sev hates being called that, Sirius," Lily told him ruefully. "For the most oblivious bloke I know, you really hit the nail on the head." Sirius smiled at her, and sketched a sitting-down bow.

"So, did you fight?" James asked, trying to figure out how to modulate his tone so neither his best friend nor his maybe-girlfriend would be angry with him.

"Nah, I told the snivelly little shit I wouldn't bother with him. And to come back and try me when he was man enough to actually do it."

"Ohh, Sirius," Lily's exhalation was soft, and Sirius, obviously still glorying in his antagonism, missed it.

But James didn't. Partially because he was attuned to her every move and every noise, but also partially because he wasn't nearly as self-absorbed as she'd accused him of being over the years. He nudged her shoulder, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She scrubbed her hands over her face, and sighed again. Carefully, she curled against James, and pressed her lips against his ear. "It's just, his dad, they don't, um...get along. And when Sev's tried to step in, between his dad and his mum, his dad always knocks him aside, and says exactly that."

"Fuck," James whispered. And for maybe the millionth time since coming to Hogwarts and seeing how other parents treated their children, James yet again thanked Merlin that his parents while his parents set boundaries and asked that he respect them, the didn't enforce them with pain or torture or, well, _force_, really. He leaned his head against Lily's, and tightened his arm around her waist. Her face looked drawn and sad, and it was apparent that she did not approve of the Snapes' parenting methods. _One day_, he reminded himself, _when you aren't about to wear yourself out, chasing after your moon-crazed best friend, you've got to ask her about her family. See what they're like, and where she comes from. How she thinks children should be raised._

Sirius stood, and stretched, and scratched his stomach lazily. "So, run down to the kitchens, Prongs? I never did get dinner."

"Uh, Padfoot, I, uh, believe we've got an appointment, no?" James replied, relunctantly untangling himself from Lily. It was _only_ because it was Moony and he needed him that James left his place on the couch next to her.

Sirius smiled darkly. He tossed his hair back, and his eyeteeth flashed, and he chuckled, low and deep in his throat. James drew back a little bit, shocked at how suddenly Sirius resembled his father.

"Well, Prongs, we might want to wait, just a bit. Maybe grab something to eat first."

"We're late enough, mate," James said, and gestured to Peter to come and join them.

Sirius held his hands up, and pushed back against James' chest as James tried to stride by him toward the Portrait Hole.

"Seriously, Prongs, we can't go down there just yet." There was something in Sirius' voice- in his manner and in the slant of his smile. He looked inordinately pleased with himself; as if he'd just done all of humanity a service. The hair on the back of James' neck stood up.

"I sent him down, to the Willow. Snivellus," he clarified. "Told him to touch the knot on the trunk and climb on in. Let him see if he's man enough for that, even if he gets Third Years to do his torturing." Fierce, bleak pride rippled across Sirius' face. His voice dropped. "He'll never fucking talk to my brother again, no he fucking won't."

He laughed then, the mad laugh of his mother and his cousin Bellatrix, and James didn't wait. He didn't wait for the words to hit him, or for the gravity of what Sirius had done sink into his limbs and make him slow. He didn't wait for the fear that he might not be fast enough to shiver through his body. He didn't wait to acknowledge the tiny part of himself that wouldn't actually mind if Snivellus Snape _was _ripped apart by a werewolf. He didn't stop to answer Lily's frightened questions, or to deal with Peter's obvious struggle over which side he should choose versus which side he actually agreed with. He didn't pause to grab the Map or his Cloak or to tell McGonagall, even as her words about proper channels rang in his mind. He didn't stop to murder the shit out of Sirius for doing this to Remus, to Snape, to James, to himself. He didn't wait. He couldn't wait. He ran.

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><p><strong>AN: So sorry for all the time between updates! Here's this enormously long chapter to hopefully make up for my negligence. Thanks so much for reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Landing**

Five things scared Severus Snape, and five things only. They were, in no particular order (and also, obviously): his father when he was drunk on gin; how sometimes his mother sighed silently and stared around their untidy house after yet another violent fight as if she would rather be _anywhere _but there -and that maybe that _anywhere_ included back with her Prince relatives or dead; that maybe he wasn't as smart and destined for success as everyone else thought he was; _Lily_; and small, confined spaces.

He was _not_, whatever Black shouted at him in a fit of impotent fury, a coward. He was afraid of real things- things that were definable and quantifiable and could actually hurt him. His father was his most unpredictable and cruel when he'd downed too much cheap gin at The Bee and the Boarhound, and Severus has three deep scars in the small of his back to prove it. His mother, for all her faults and weaknesses, had introduced him to the Wizarding World and he had inherited both her magical skills and her aptitude for revenge, and he loved the whole of his inheritance. And if she left him, he would be bereft. People tell him he's brilliant all the time, often while gritting their teeth that a half-blood git like him should have the best marks in his Year, but sometimes he worries that his brilliance is simply a blacker kind of James Potter flash- that maybe Severus, too, is all style and no substance. _Lily _is a maelstrom of hopes and worries and wishes and despairs that most of the time doesn't even bear thinking about. And the confined spaces thing; well, that's the product of a childhood in a tight-cornered old house with a father that sometimes tossed him into a closet and slammed the door when he wanted to fight or fuck Severus' mother. And yes, the confined spaces thing was maybe not a legitimate fear but whatever. It normally wasn't a problem, because normally he avoided spaces which might trigger it.

Unfortunately, this was, apparently, not one of those times. Severus drew a deep breath and stared around the deserted Hogwarts grounds. The gleaming silver of the full moon illuminated the ink-dark branches of the Whomping Willow as they strained towards him, curling their fronds as if desperate to get them around his neck. His lip curled, he watched the tree yank against its roots and tried to find the knothole Black had told him to tap. Black had also told him -sneered at him, more like- that there was a tunnel that led to Lupin hidden under the roots of the Willow, which is what made him hesitate now.

"How bad could it be, Snape?" he asked himself aloud, unconsciously using his surname rather than Lily's nickname for him, as he always did when he was displeased with himself. He pictured, just for an instant, rough, dark walls that snaked underneath the grounds, twisting and turning until they closed off and he was trapped in the dark with-

"_Enough._" He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Carefully, he squared his thin shoulders. He was _not _a coward. And he did not use _children_ to do things he hoped to otherwise avoid. He was not sending a 2nd Year down into a tunnel that, truthfully, he never, ever wanted to enter. And, he had _not _forced Regulus Black into torturing a Gryffidor 1st Year. That decision had oozed squarely out of the younger boy's cockroach brain all on its own.

The Syltherin leadership was furious with Regulus and his cronies -not necessarily for the act of torture itself, but for the openness of it, and the professorial scrutiny it brought down upon the Slytherins. Severus was furious for a different reason- he knew how it felt to be hurt, and to be made powerless, and he hated that a boy of 13-fucking-years-old already had the requisite malice and depraved heart to torture a goddamn child.

And what's worse, as much as Severus despised Black, with a passion that probably transcended Salazar Slytherin's hatred for Godric Gryffindor, he knew, deep in the heart that he kept hidden from everyone except Lily Evans, that Black would _never _have done that. He never would have attacked a 1st Year girl, in secret, with several friends behind him, using a curse she couldn't hope to fight off; if Black wanted to make a name for himself, he would attack the biggest 7th Year he could find in the middle of the Great Hall by himself, in front of the whole school.

Sometimes it amazed him that Black didn't see it. See, Black _had_ made a name for himself among the Gryffindors and their supporters; now Regulus was simply trying to make a name for himself amongst everyone that was still available. But Regulus was going about it the precisely wrong way, and if Severus, reluctantly, ever gave Black anything, he would give him that. Black was not his brother, and for the first time ever, that was a compliment to Black, and rather the opposite to Regulus.

And that was why- as much as he was afraid, of the small, tight space (and maybe also what awaited him at the end of it) Severus decided to go into the tunnel underneath the Whomping Willow.

Black was cruel, but he wasn't _that _cruel. He was depraved, but he wasn't _that _depraved. He had honor -his own personal and ever-changing notion of it, but it definitely included a precept against stabbing someone in the back. Severus smiled ruefully to himself as he pointed his wand at a broken tree branch lying just past his left foot. "_Wingardium Leviosa"_ he whispered, and watched as the branch floated towards the snapping tree.

_Black wouldn't stab someone in the back, _he told himself resolutely. _He'd make them face front and watch as he stabbed them, maybe, but it wouldn't be in the back. _His branch kissed the knothole and the tree stilled, its limbs suddenly quiet. Slowly, Severus approached the tree, and spotted the skinny hole hidden amongst the knobbly roots. He slipped his robe off his shoulders and folded it neatly at the base of the tree. He dipped forwards and slid down, grunting softly when his feet smacked against the stone floor. He looked wildly around the darkness, just barely able to see a glimmer of the full moon. He took a deep breath, and held it.

_Ok, Sev, _he decided. _This is going to be fine. He's a sniveling moron and an utter idiot and a despicable excuse for a Pureblood, but he isn't a sneak. If he was going to murder me, he'd do it from the front. _He set off down the pitch-dark tunnel.

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><p>Maybe a quarter of an hour into his twisted journey, Severus thought he heard an animal rustling behind him. The heavy stone walls and tight passageways distorted any sounds, but he thought he could hear movement somewhere behind him, far outside the glow of his wand lit with <em>Lumos Maxima<em>. Plus, he was counting- counting his steps and every time his right hand trailing on the wall snagged on a jagged outcropping- to keep himself from thinking about how the walls were maybe narrowing and the floor was inching closer to the ceiling and what if he was trapped and-

"_Enough." _He whispered aloud it this time, snapping himself out of his counting trance. Suddenly, the noises behind him seemed louder, and he thought maybe someone was yelling, garbled syllables ripping down the tunnel. He paused, and turned back towards the entrance, listening intently. _Maybe it's Black? _he wondered absently, and slowly backed away, towards his goal. He walked backwards for a few more steps, then gasped aloud when his heel smacked something pliable. He spun, wand held aloft, and there it was.

Roughly-carved, splintery wooden steps led up, out of the tunnel, to a wooden door that his wandlight just reached. There was no railing, and the steps were steep- more like a haphazard ladder than a proper staircase. Severus cocked an ear towards the door, and grinned delightedly to himself. He could hear nothing- some soft swishing noises maybe, and sharp wooden creaks, but nothing else. But _someone _was up there, behind that door, and finally. Finally. _Finally _he would know one of the Morons' deepest-held secrets. Frankly, he expected it would be something deeply boring- probably Lupin holding a study group with Slytherins who didn't want to be caught consorting with Gryffindors, but maybe the Morons were running a cheating ring from this room or or perhaps Lupin having a monthly secret tryst with a girl or a bloke or a unicorn or something, But whatever it was, now he would _know_, and knowledge, he knew, as someone who had so rarely had it, was power.

He leaped silently onto the staircase and crept upwards. He climbed quickly, and just as he reached the second to last step, the door in front of him shuddered in its frame, as something big and violent and angry slammed against it.

His body stopped, perhaps recognizing the incongruity of the noise, but his brain pushed his right hand outwards, towards the rough-cut latch. The door shuddered again, a deep growling noise coming from the bowels of the room, and Severus gasped just a little bit. _It's bullshit! _his brain screamed at his fucking cowardly body. _It's bullshit, it's a trick or a Charm or a fucking tape recorder or the Morons all crammed in some room in Hogsmeade with 50 Gryffindors having a laugh at what a fucking coward I am. Do it. _Do it, _you weaselly fuck. Open it. You are _not _a fucking coward! _

He reached out, slowly, and pushed the door open. There was a bit of light leeching through the broken windows and he saw a great hairy body, crouched on all fours, back against the corner. The room was almost bare- just a few torn up pieces of furniture, and a shadowy fucking _monster_. The monster growled, deep and low in its throat, and the flimsy walls shook. It reared back its head, arching up into the light, and Severus could see yellow teeth and a snarling, frothing mouth and it was a fucking _werewolf_ and Black had sent him into the den of a fucking _werewolf _and he turned and flung himself down the stairs and rolled onto the stone floor as the monster threw itself at the door after and then suddenly fucking Potter was there screaming _Impedimenta _and _Stupefy _and _fuck, please, Remus _and _c'mon Snape! _and they ran.

They ran and ran as Potter fired curses and _Stupefies _back over his shoulder as they ran and Snape gasped for breath and tried to keep up. Potter had one hand buried in Snape's sweater and he yanked him along and they hurtled down the passageway, making the turns even in the darkness so easily that Snape knew Potter had been here before. Potter'd been down this tunnel once a month because that thing at the end was a _werewolf_ and that werewolf was Lupin and maybe they'd tamed him somehow but he was still a motherfucking werewolf and Black had tried to _murder_ him. Severus knew he should be afraid, and he knew he should be grateful that Potter -fucking Potter!- had saved him but he could only think on a giddy loop: _Sirius Black tried to kill me, Sirius Black wants me dead, Sirius Black tried to kill me with a fucking werewolf that's actually Remus Lupin oh shit oh shit oh shit..._

* * *

><p>When they reached the end of the tunnel Snape leaped for the lip of the entrance, desperate to get out before Potter climbed him like a ladder and left him for the werewolf to play with. But he wasn't very tall and he couldn't jump very high and he crashed back down, with a jolt that made his ankles and knees ache. He stared wildly behind himself, terrified he'd be trapped there forever, in this small dark space with a fucking werewolf-<p>

"Hey, Snape, that's enough," Potter muttered. He wiped a hand over his eyes, and even in the dim moonlight leaking down underground to them, Severus could see that he was maybe wiping away tears. "He can't get past the middle of the tunnel-it's lined with wolfsbane." He drew a deep breath, and his brows narrowed. "He'll only hurt you if you do something so fucking dumb like go and visit him in the Shack."

Bitter fury swept over Severus, making him shiver in place. He held his hands up like he wanted to wrap them around Potter's neck, and Potter pulled his chin up a bit, like maybe he'd like it if Snape did that, too.

"Sure, Potter, if you _visit_ him, _or_ if a murderous piece of Pureblood scum like Black sends you down the tunnel to meet him, without any warning!"

He waited, shoulders lifted, ready to leap on Potter and try to rip out the throat that the werewolf had missed, if Potter responded with something like, "Well, that's what you get for listening to Sirius," or "curiosity nearly killed the cat, didn't it, Snape?" But Potter didn't say either of those things. Instead, he exhaled slowly, a deep shuddery breath, and nodded regretfully. As if he hated agreeing with Severus, but truly could say nothing in return.

Potter turned towards the opening in the tree roots, and laced his hands into a step. "Here, Snape," he said, and gestured upwards at the moonlight. Cautiously, because he'd already trusted one Moron tonight and hated the idea of giving another even the smallest portion of his trust, he stepped forward. But he was _not _a coward so he climbed into Potter's hands and scampered out of the hole and onto the sweet-smelling grass. He wanted to flop down and roll around in the wide open space, but instead he turned and grabbed Potter's forearm as Potter climbed out, and pulled him towards the surface.

Potter nodded at him, surprise lighting up his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered gruffly, and set off towards Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>They walked back towards the castle together, almost in step, as Severus tried to slow down his rabbit-fast heart and his wheezing breath; tried to choke down the nausea that roiled in his empty stomach.<p>

They walked in silence until they reached the front steps, when Potter suddenly turned. "Snape," he whispered, and the sadness and despair in his voice made Severus' skin crawl. He didn't like this actually despairing Potter nearly as much as always imagined that he would.

"Snape- Severus, I, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, that he would, I didn't think..." He trailed off, staring morosely at a shadow that stretched next to Severus, as if he saw the unrepentant form of his murderous friend standing there. "I just, I _hate _that he did this to you. He tried to hurt you, to make you weak, and you didn't know, about the wolf so you weren't ready, and it wasn't fair. And I'm so fucking sorry, you can't even know."

Shock, mixed with a furious revulsion, hit Severus like a slap. Who knew that of all the Morons, it appeared that the one he was most similar to was Potter. Not the bookish Lupin or the oddball Pettigrew or the Slytherin-at-heart Black the Bastard, but fucking _Potter_.

Stiffly, he rolled his sore shoulders back, and stared at Potter. Fuck their fucking similarities, Black had still set a goddamn _werewolf _on him. "So, I hope you don't think your stuttering apology makes it all better, Potter," he said, trying for fierce and maybe getting to certain.

Slowly, Potter straightened himself up too, looking Severus in the eye for the first time all night. He shook his head, and his glasses glinted in the moonlight. "No. No, it doesn't make it better. Nothing could, probably, and an apology from me isn't it." Potter blinked, and Severus, shocked, watched a tear roll down his cheek. "He did what he did, he made his choice, and he, and the rest of us, will just have to live with that."

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><p><strong>AN: **"I know I said that I always choose the anticlimactic over the irrevocable, and yes of course what I meant was that I have always been a coward, but I lied: not always, there was that night, there was that one time." -Tana French.

Thanks for reading, and I've love to hear what you think!


	24. Chapter 24

**Terminal**

Slowly, with a barely-suppressed groan, James lifted his head out of his hands and stretched his tense shoulders. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear the grittiness without actually rubbing them- because even now, it wouldn't do to let Sniv-, er, Snape, think he was crying. He fucking wanted to cry; he wanted to bury his face in his mother's arms and scream and flail and let her hold him. He wanted her to appear, alongside his father, both of them with stern faces and loving eyes, ready to go to battle for him and protect him from professorial fury.

Before he bade them wait in the anteroom of his office, nearly three hours ago, behind a door that utterly muffled every noise which might have otherwise leached out to them, Dumbledore had asked him and Snape if they wanted him to owl their parents. Both boys had said no, decisively. Snape- James knew, because of things Lily had let slip, and also because Merlin, just look at him, he's a picture of parental neglect and lovelessness- said no because he absolutely, utterly did not want them to come. James said no because he wanted his mum and dad to come too much- because he was afraid he would crumple and break when he saw them, and he was a man, who could handle this by himself.

Dumbledore had slowly nodded at each of them, and not for the first time James wondered if the old wizard could read minds, because he seemed to both understand their choices, and to applaud them.

He had invited each of them into his office one at a time, to tell their side of the night's sad happenings to himself, McGonagall and Slughorn. Even though Snape was clearly the victim, James was interviewed first, because as soon as Dumbledore asked him to tell his story, Snape couldn't seem to catch his breath, and he had to go outside into the corridor and sit with Madam Pomfrey in a dark corner and remember how to breathe.

For the tiniest second, as he'd stood before two of his favorite professors, and one of his least, James'd thought about lying. About pretending as hard as he could that Sirius hadn't sent Snape down under the Whomping Willow; hadn't nearly gotten Snape killed; hadn't maybe ruined Remus' Hogwarts career; and maybe, his traitor mind whispered, _maybe he got Mooney killed_. Because as soon as the first parent hears about what almost happened, they'll be howling for Mooney's hide. Howling for his tainted blood and his kind hazel eyes and his scarred skin. And fucking Mooney would go along with it because he thinks he's evil and a monster and that he doesn't deserve to live. He'll fling his neck on the block and apologize for being such a fucking inconvenience. And that maybe even though James had saved Snape in the end, Sirius was a murderer nevertheless, because he would be the cause of Mooney's death, just as if he held the executioner's axe himself. James almost lied, and he might have been believed, because Snape didn't really look like much of a reliable narrator at this point, and none of the professors wanted to believe that their 16-year-old student was capable of such reckless evil. He'd opened his mouth to lie, to spin a far less harmless version of the story, to see if he could put back the pieces of his life into their proper, gleeful places.

Except. As much as his entire being recoiled from doing anything that might hurt Mooney, he had to tell the truth. Sirius had tried to murder Snape tonight, and had maybe murdered Mooney too, and that was what happened. That was what happened, so James swallowed down his bitter nausea and his burning fear, and slowly told them all that he knew. He watched McGongall's whole body sag when she realized the full extent of Sirius' actions, and Dumbledore's normally bright eyes were shuttered and dull.

He didn't even bother trying to listen to Snape's recitation- surprisingly, he trusted him to tell the exact truth. Snape was a greasy git and a future Death Eater and probably a forever-virgin, but he wasn't a liar.

And when McGonagall ushered Snape back out of Dumbledore's office and into the anteroom where James was waiting, he didn't even look up, to see if she looked confused or uncertain. When she spoke, the brittleness in her voice startled him.

"The Blacks will be arriving shortly." She looked around at both of them, and neither met her eyes. "They were invited to Hogwarts earlier today, to discuss the reprehensible actions of their younger son. Now, apparently, we will have another such conversation, about another such son." She turned on her heel and swept the door shut behind her, leaving James and Snivellus in the dim quiet of the anteroom.

They waited, silently, on exact opposite sides of the room, until finally, hours later, James lifted his head, and looked up into Snape's furious eyes fixed on his face. James chuckled grimly. "The phrase you're looking for is 'thank you', Snape," he said softly, and almost laughed aloud at the quiver of apoplexy that shot up Snape's clenched jaw.

"I don't know what you think I have, to thank you, for, Potter," he stuttered angrily.

James quirked an eyebrow. _It's amazing,_ he realized, that even right now, _so pissed and worried I can barely think, I still can't stop from baiting Snivillus_. He sighed. _No wonder he hates me- my fucking default is to hurt him_.

"Yeah, well, just, would you tell Lily, 'cause Merlin knows she won't be speaking to me since Sirius set a werewolf on her precious little Sev, that it was me who went after you, and me who pulled you out of that tunnel."

"_That's_ why you did it," Snape snapped. "I knew it. I knew you couldn't... that you didn't..." He trailed off, and looked away from James. "You wouldn't've rescued me, if you didn't think she'd leave you. I knew it."

James shrugged. Now it was his turn to look away from the boy across the room. "Shit, don't think so little of yourself, Snape," he murmured. "I would've rescued anyone, fucking everyone from the Shack. From Mooney."

He saw Snape mouth "Mooney" and he flinched. _Fuck_. James rubbed his face harshly, and for the millionth time since Sirius had first fucking laughed about sending Snape down to the Shack, he forced himself to keep his threatening tears behind his lids. He was tired of this fucking day, tired of the tightness in his jaw and absolutely tired of being shut up in what was basically a closet with Snape. And, finally, maybe five years too late, he was tired of fighting Sirius' worst instincts, and apparently, losing soundly. "Guess the fucking secret's out, yeah?

Snape paused, and swallowed tightly. "I think, that I'd rather it wasn't," he said softly, and James decided that that was how Snapes said thank you to their worst enemies for saving their lives. He would take it, but he wanted to tell Snape- to fucking shake him until the greasy little shit understood this- that James didn't need even the smallest speck gratitude or recognition. He didn't do it to force Snape into his debt. He mostly did it because Mooney would be put down like a rabid animal if he'd actually killed Snape, but he a little bit did it because while some people might deserve to be torn apart by a vicious werewolf, Severus Snape was not actually one of those people.

* * *

><p>When the Blacks swept through the anteroom almost half an hour later, James and Snape both flinched mightily. Walburga Black didn't deign to look at either of them as she flung the double doors of Dumbledore's inner office open and hurried inside. Orion, however, tall and imposing and following far more sedately behind her, paused. Both boys jumped to their feet- Snape because he was obviously an ass-kissing little toady, and James because his father would be ashamed of his son's manners if he didn't- which, on reflection, was basically the same thing.<p>

Snape stepped forward, thin shoulders drawn back and hand extended, but Orion didn't even glance at him. Instead, he turned his entire body towards James, boxing Snape out. "James," he said, pronouncing the name as if it meant "Hello". They shook hands quickly, as if neither wanted to touch the other for too long, and then Orion nodded once more, indicating only James and no one else in his gesture, and followed his wife into the office.

As the door closed behind Orion Black, James could hear Snape's ragged, shocked breathing. He didn't particularly want to look at Snape, because as much as he enjoyed seeing Snape humiliated, he liked to be the one to do it. And he liked Snape to deserve it. But, maybe Snape should finally understand exactly what the people he supported and idolized thought of him.

"Sorry, Snape," James said, forcing some levity in his voice. "But you know how Purebloods are. Don't think much of those who, well, _aren't_."

"Fuck you, Potter," Snape rasped. "You're a fucking traitor to your blood, and just because he... Mr. Black, didn't _see_... doesn't mean that-"

"For Merlin's fucking sake, Snape," James snapped. "You're right, I'm a blood traitor, but I'm _still_ Pureblood. His dad and my grandfather are both on the Wizengamot, and our family vaults are just up the aisle from each other at Gringotts. We've all got business interests tied up with each other." James paused, and marched forward, wanting Snape to understand this, deep in his spindly bones. "It doesn't matter that you're Slytherin and I'm Gryffinor. I'm still pureblood, and I'm still old Wizard money, and you're not. And you won't ever be. And that is the only thing that matters."

Snape looked sick- he was rocked back on his heels and the edges of his lips were white. He tried to speak, but James just barreled on.

"And, look, that's what I don't fucking get, Snape," James said, giving voice to something he and his mother had discussed continuously as the Pureblood movement gained in political strength over the past decade. "You could murder every blood traitor and find the Sorcerer's Stone and the lost wands of Merlin and give all that _plus_ the keys to the world to the Movement, and they still wouldn't think you were anything more than a jumped up half-blood who would never belong."

He looked at Snape, and shivered to see the fucking hurt in his eyes- the desperation to belong somewhere- to have _someone_ who would take him just as he was, without asking anything of him that he couldn't give.

Snape signed, and James blinked, as Snape's shoulders sagged and the fury visibly drained from his face. "Yeah," he said, definitively not looking at James. "Lily, she says that sort of thing, a lot, actually." He swallowed. "I'm just, I don't know, how, to-"

But Snape didn't finish his thought, as much as James surprisingly wanted him to, because, at that moment, the corridor door swung open, and Filch ushered Sirius and Regulus into the anteroom, his heavy hands on each of their shoulders. Snape backed away, maybe unconsciously bringing his hands up in front of his chest, to protect himself.

Regulus looked dazed, but Sirius tried to throw something of a smirk on his face when he saw Snape's retreat, and he winked at James, trying to draw him into a little quick Snape-baiting.

But James couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and wanted nothing more in the world than to be as far away as possible from Sirius and his snake of a brother, so James backed up too, towards the person in this room he hated the least at the moment, and ended up bumping into Snape's chest until they stood shoulder to shoulder, arrayed together against these newcomers.

Shock hit Sirius like a slap- his whole face jerked back, and his eyes rolled. He tried to say something, but he couldn't seem to form any coherent words, and anyway James had turned his back, completely uninterested in anything Sirius Black had to say. Filch steered his captives toward the office doors, and James didn't turn back until he heard them close firmly.

He marveled, for a second that this might have been the first time he and Snape on the same side of a line, and James fucking hated the circumstances forced them there- he hated the House divisions and the Black brothers' rivalry and the fucking monsters in there with his teachers who had raised a child without a conscience, and, he maybe hated Sirius Black, his best friend and brother, who had finally revealed the true darkness of his nature, and who had finally lived fully up to his last name.

And then his knees buckled and he fell forwards into a chair and he buried his head in his hands and sobbed, and shockingly, he didn't give two shits that Snape could hear him.

* * *

><p>He swam up to consciousness, Merlin knows how much time later, when Snape gently kicked his shin, and pointed to the office doors. Walburga Black's shrill voice could be heard getting louder as she approached the exit. She threw them open and nearly sprinted through, screaming invectives over her shoulder, Regulus trailing along morosely in her wake. Slughorn followed after her fussily, and Orion strolled behind, clearly unmoved by his wife's madness. None of the Blacks looked at the two boys sitting in the darkness of the anteroom.<p>

Out of the corner of his half-closed eyes, James saw Sirius appear in the doorway, flanked by McGonagall, and while he wasn't grinning he also wasn't crying, and James decided that he was fucking finished with this day.

Sirius stepped away from McGonagall, and bounded over to James, again, ignoring Snape -the boy he'd tried to fucking murder earlier that night, and yet again James was struck by how similar he was to Orion, and how apparently James had spent the past five years ignoring that.

Sirius smirked. "Not booted out, mate. Reg might be, but Dumbledore's keeping me." His grin broadened as both heard Snape gasp in horror behind them. He cocked his head at James, inviting him to pound chests or do a quick man-hug or fake-punch his jaw, to celebrate this improbable victory with him.

And, for a second, James let himself luxuriate in how much easier and less angst-y and difficult and fucking excruciating it would be to hug Sirius, and to forgive him, and to keep their bond intact and strong. He rolled the thought around in his head for a few seconds, just long enough for some of the light in Sirius' eyes to dim, before slowly, carefully, closing the door in his mind on this impossibility. Because, he was Lily Evans' maybe-boyfriend and his mother's darling boy and his proud father's son, just the same way Sirius was apparently the son of his own parents. See, Sirius made choices but truly they were _easy_ fucking choices because, in the end, he wasn't actually rebelling against anything- instead he stepped neatly into the inheritance his parents had built for him, and he wore it with the same careless cruelty as they did. And, James Potter was finally done with it.

He stepped forward, until his chest almost touched Sirius' and let his face morph into lines of the rage that had been churning in his stomach for hours. He leaned his head back to get as much leverage as possible, then spit directly into Sirius' face.

Sirius blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes, and he drew back just a bit, maybe a bit surprised but certain that this was momentary anger, and it would pass.

"Look at me, Black," James said tightly, and Sirius' eyes snapped open." James crashed his closed fist into Sirius' chest, forcing Sirius away from him. "You're not my mate. I'm _not_ your fucking friend. And neither is Remus or Peter." He drew in a deep breath. "It's over. You're not a Gryffindor, and you've never been. Stay the fuck away from me." James shouldered past Sirius towards the door, hoping to make it out before his friend said something that would spark his smoldering anger and cause a riot.

"Shit, Prongs, no," Sirius whispered helplessly, and James whipped around.

"Nope. No. Never again. You're out, Black. I'm done with you." He watched Sirius absorb this, because James Potter was not a coward who would turn away from his own handiwork, and normally, the naked hurt and desperation in Sirius' eyes would send James careening towards him, ready to help or comfort or joke and do whatever he could to fix it. But not today. Not right now. Never fucking again.

Sirius was gasping, and behind him, Snape watched without any of the glee James might have expected from him. James paused in the doorway, and tried to think of a final cutting remark, to drive everything home. But it had been a long fucking day, and his brain felt like the fizzy soda that Mooney loved and he really didn't want to cry again. Instead, he swept his hair back from his face, and took one last look at his friend.

"I'm so fucking tired of you, Sirius," he said, and gently, carefully, as if it might shatter into innumerable pieces, closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you've all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reading, and as always, I'd love to hear what you think!**


	25. Chapter 25

**For Your Viewing Pleasure: Confidence **

"James! James Potter! Stop! St-aghhh!" Lily dove from the doorway of the 5th Year Gryffindor boys bedroom into the room itself, narrowly avoiding an avalanche of Playboy posters as they flapped angrily over her head and shot down the stairwell to the Common Room. She could hear muffled shrieks as the posters rounded the corridor and collided haphazardly with the dozen or so students who still sheltered under tables downstairs, laughing uproariously at James' antics. He appeared to be ripping every speck of Sirius Black out of their dormitory and firing it into the Common Room. Lily had only decided to brave the stairwell after swathes of bed hangings nearly smothered two tiny first year girls. Normally James had better control than this, and he was certainly welcome to destroy Sirius' possessions, but at the expense of nobody but Sirius himself.

Now she crouched, just inside the doorway, mostly out of the line of fire but still ready to duck if a shoe or book winged awkwardly towards her, and stared at James. He had sent Sirius' bed hangings and sheets down first out of anything, and now flung random objects into a pile in the middle of the room, muttering "_Locomotors"_ and hurling whatever he hit them down the stairs only when he stopped cursing Sirius long enough to get the spell out. He was now half-hidden in Sirius' wardrobe, tossing worn concert t-shirts and books and motorcycle boots back towards what Lily only assumed was Remus' bed (it had hospital corners and the books on the nightstand were alphabetized) and muttering furiously to himself.

He straightened up suddenly and sneezed explosively, shoving his glasses upwards to rub his eyes, and Lily thought she saw blood on the tips of his fingers. "Well, fuck, this won't do", she whispered to herself, and swallowed tightly. _Time to see what all the fuss is about, I guess._

"Oi, Potter!" she shouted, and he whirled, wand outstretched. "_Impedimentia! Expelliarmus! _She caught his wand one-handed as it arced neatly towards her, all the while keeping a wary eye on James. He was frozen, hands braced in front of him, chest heaving. Slowly, she stalked across the room, taking care to walk pigeon-toed so her hips swung. She poked him gently in the chest and let her hand fall away slowly, descending to about his belly-button before dropping back to her side. His stomach muscles fluttered under her touch, and she grinned up at him. She liked that –liked it a lot- that she could make his body react with just the barest brush of her fingers; that she could utterly disrupt his fury just by stepping into his space, and maybe re-direct it into something else. _Fuck, he looks…dangerous_, she thought giddily, _but only in the safest, non-heart-breakingest type of way_.

"So, Potter," she drawled. "If I take this off of you, are you going to behave?" Jaw clenched, he nodded slowly.

Lily sighed, and turned away, letting him look at the way her ass moved in her skirt. "Really not the answer I was looking for, James."

She fired a _"Finite Incantatum"_ over her shoulder, not even looking to see if it landed, and then gasped as James barreled into her, driving her towards his bed. They landed tangled in the hangings, and he ripped them away from her, running his hands roughly up and down her body. His legs clenched around her, trapping her beneath him, and he ground himself against her. Lily could feel him, hard and hot, and she arched her hips up towards him. A jagged moan ripped from his throat and she almost giggled, writhing happily underneath at the success of her plan, and at the warm, steady buzz building between her legs.

_What do they do next in movies, _she wondered muzzily, as she dragged her fingers down his back. He wasn't necessarily acting like James Bond did whenever he got girls into bed (which was about the sum total of Lily's sex scene experience). Instead, it felt like her James was trying to climb inside her skin- to bury himself inside her.

So, since this wasn't a movie, and since there wasn't a script, she just did what felt best. Reaching up, she wove her fingers through James' hair and pulled his face down to hers. He licked his lips to kiss her, but she stopped him, just far enough away so she could still see his eyes.

"It'll be ok, James," she murmured. "It's going to be ok."

He breathed out raggedly, and slowly brought his hands up to cradle her head. She could feel each of his ten fingers like ten pulses against her skull, and even cupped in his big and callused hands, she felt safe. _Cherished_.

"Now it is," he whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

><p>She woke sometime later. The shadows had lengthened considerably, but she could still see a crescent of the setting sun if she picked her head up and craned her neck towards the west window.<p>

"Oomph," he huffed out as she resettled herself on his chest, but it sounded like the happiest "oomph" ever. She lay in the dimness shivering with pleasure as James drew whorls and starbursts on her skin; his fingers like butterfly feet on her bare back.

_Is it worth is, _she wondered tiredly, _to actually know what asinine thing Sirius has done now, to cause this dramatic meltdown? Worth it to know why James looks like a little boy lost in the pouring rain? _She smiled to herself. _Worth it to know why I let him go down on me til I had my first orgasm, because he begged me to? _

She turned slightly and kissed the hollow of his sternum, then licked it. His fingers on her back stilled for an instant, but he didn't speak.

_Ugh. As usual, girls have to do the dirty work of getting boys to talk about their feelings. Otherwise the poor things will burst._

"I thought it would be...way less neat." She lifted a limp hand and gestured around the room. For, except for the mess James had made of Sirius' stuff, and the mess she and James had made of James' bed, the room was pristine. "Shocking the house elves can keep up with you all."

James shifted beneath her. "Eh, Mooney never had any, and neither of us can study unless it's neat."

"That's still 2 against 2, though, and Peter doesn't seem like he...well...contributes much, to the cleanliness crusade."

"Yeah, his Mum used to make him do chores whenever he was in trouble, so he hates it." He took a deep breath. "But, he's a bit of a follower, you know, and he wants to keep everyone happy, so..."

"And Sirius?"

She could feel his heart thumping faster underneath her jaw. His fingers tightened on her back.

"Don't you know, Evans?" he said bitterly. "James Potter is the only person on Earth who can control Sirius Black."

_Fuck._ Well, that sounded final. Lily ruminated on a few salvos that might get James talking again, and then decided on the only other burning question she could think of.

"Why does he have so many pairs of girls' underwear?"

James' laugh growled up from his belly. "What, the fuck?" he gasped.

Lily shrugged as best as a girl could when she was curled around a boy.

"When you sent all his stuff parading down the stairs. He has maybe a million pairs of boys underwear, covered with Snitches and cartoons, _obviously_, but he also has like 50 pairs of girls' underwear. All lacy and frilly and sexy."

James was laughing helplessly, his head thrown back into the pillow. "Fuck me, Lily, I have no fucking clue. He's just a huge fucking weirdo, isn't he."

He gasped the last words, and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. "Fuck, I'm not going to cry in front of you, too."

* * *

><p>So he told her. He told her about Mooney and becoming Animagi and the tunnel beneath the Shrieking Shack. He told her about Carey and Regulus and Sirius and Snape. He told her about the body-clenching terror that he had felt, that he maybe wouldn't get there in time, and the bitter relief, that maybe it didn't matter that he had. He told her about the waste, maybe, of 5 years of fighting against Sirius' worst instincts, and clearly losing. "And fuck me, everyone always says that I'm the "only one who can control Sirius Black." Well, maybe I don't fucking want to." He swallowed, and it echoed in the ear she had pressed against him. "I'm not his parents and I'm not a fucking professor and he's a big boy! It's not my...responsibility to be in charge of him. He's got to figure out his own shit, and I'm sorry that he had a shitty childhood, I really am, but if he hated it so much, why imitate it? Why can't he realize...he doesn't get...he has to..."<p>

"You can lead a horse to water, and you can shove his face in it til he drowns, but you can't make him drink."

James sighed. "Yeah, exactly, I guess."

He took a deep breach, and lowered his mouth into her hair. His arms tightened around her, as if he was afraid she was going to run, and Lily braced herself, for some even worse revelation.

"I am, so fucking sorry, that he did that to Snape, Lily. I'm so sorry and ashamed of him, and he was wrong to do it, and he just, he doesn't get it, and..."

"Hmph. Well, _I_ get why he did it."

"What? No! Just because he's a greasy Snivellus doesn't mean you can set a werewolf on him!"

Lily laughed silently. "Yeah, no shit, Potter. I just meant, well, Sev and I are not...really, on the easiest of terms, right now. And I can understand why someone might want to do just that."

James shifted her up his body, so her head rested in the curve of his neck. "Well, that sucks, Lily. I hope you can fix it with him."

She lifted her head sharply and almost banged her nose against his jaw. "_Really_, Potter? I thought you'd spent the last 5 years telling me all the million reasons why I _shouldn't _be friends with him."

"Yeah, well, that's because he's a Slytherin and I just can't help myself there. But he's your friend, and I'm not in charge of who you're friends with."

_Well holy shit, _she mused. _Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, for your viewing pleasure: Confidence. _

"And you won't be jealous, or stupid, if we do patch it up?"

James chuckled, and she would have hit him for the self-satisfaction in his voice if it wouldn't have stopped him -even just momentarily- from slowly moving his hands across her stomach to the edge of the sheet that stopped at the apex of her thighs.

"Evans, the only feeling I have for Snape, right this second, is pure, motherfucking pity." He pulled the sheet away from her body, and she trembled in his arms has his fingers traced the path where it used to rest.

"Plus, you're aces at saying 'no' to boys who love you." He pressed a fingertip to a place that made her seize up and gasp, and grinned wickedly against the thin skin of her thigh. "That's why I've got to make it so the only word you can say is my name."

Her back curved off the bed and she fisted her hands in the sheets and in James' hair, scrabbling for purchase.

_Cathy was so fucking right, _she realized, in the tiny corner of her brain not captured by the slow circles of James' fingertip. _Andrew Linton, and not motherfucking Heathcliff._

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: So, SO sorry for the lack of updates for almost a year! But, this story has suddenly recaptured my focus, and I promise I will keep updating! Hope you enjoy it, and as always, I love to hear what you have to think!**_


	26. Chapter 26

**A Facet of the Moon**

James Potter sat sprawled on a chair in the Hospital Wing, alongside a bed dappled with mid-morning sunlight from the high, arching windows, and watched Remus Lupin struggle to regain consciousness. Moony looked like shit; his skin was grey-green and he was curled inwards, as if he were shielding some tender part of himself. _It's weird_, James mused, watching Moony shift restlessly, _how he always looks like he's fighting like mad to get back to the surface of things, and how it always looks like he's losing_.

And maybe it's even weirder that James has seen his friends pass out often enough that he knows how to categorize their re-enervation, but he _does _attend a magical boarding school _and _his friends are rather firmly on the path towards alcoholism _and _consciousness-canceling things really just seem to happen to them at a highly disproportionate rate. So James knows that Moony struggles up towards consciousness, snarling and shuddering the whole way back to it, while Peter snaps right into it, with a decisive shake of his head and Sirius…well, he's slow about it, and cautious, really, as if he's never sure what he be might waking to.

Suddenly, with a gasp like a bark, Moony awoke and shoved himself up to sit upright in the bed. James leaned over quickly and gently pushed his shoulders back down.

"Easy, mate," he said, "you've fucked your ribs a bit, and Pomfrey said to stay flat."

Remus lay back down, eyes still screwed tight. "Prongs," he muttered, his voice harsh and tired, "we've got to stop meeting like this."He took a deep breath and winced, his hands curled in white-knuckled fists over his right side. "James, who did I…."

"No, no one, we're fine, Wormtail and I are fine, nobody got hurt, it's fine, Moony," James babbled, furious that he hadn't thought to tell him the second he awoke, to immediately quiet the fear that screamed constantly in the back of Remus' mind, like a piercing motherfucking wolf howl: _who did I hurt, who did I maim, who did I kill, who did I _bite?

And he always asks it like that; like it's an inevitability. Like it's an infallible certainty, that one day he _will _bite someone, _will _condemn some new innocent to lycanthropy, _will _destroy some new life with his curse. It's the thing that Remus hates most about the Wolf, and the thing that scares him more than anything else his febrile imagination can conjure and _fuck_, James should have reassured him the second his eyes opened.

It's just that it's normally Sirius' job to remember that this is always the only thing on Moony's mind, just like it's James' job to ensure that Remus' clothes are neatly folded and that someone grabbed a cloak for him and it's Peter's job to supply the chocolate and Firewhiskey. But Sirius is sunk in an alcoholic stupor on the sofa in the Common Room that James has uneasily begun to consider Sirius' bedroom, and Peter is who-the-fuck-knows, so today it's just James in the Hospital Wing in the morning sun with Moony. At least he snuck in some Firewhiskey.

"How bad, Prongs?" Moony muttered some time later, his voice still hoarse but getting back to normal.

"Ehh, could be worse. You bashed your chest against those rocks that Si-, uh, that look….those two rocks, in that weird bunch of bendy pine trees?"

Moony's mouth moved, it what, in a few hours, might be a grin."The rocks that Padfoot says look just like Rachel Levi's tits?"

James sighed. "Yeah. Those ones."

"Fuck, Progs, that's far. What were we doing all the way over there?"

James rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel dull heat rising up his neck and with his fucking super-senses, Moony could probably hear his heart speeding up. _You dumb shit_, he told himself, _this isn't going to make him feel better. In fucking fact, it's going to make him do the thing where he gets all noble and serious and self-sacrificial and begs me to lock him in a silver-lined cage so instead of _inconveniencing_ me for more than ten seconds._

"Without…uhh, it's harder to, _steer _you, I guess… or, calm the Wolf, maybe…" he trailed off, pushing the corners of his mouth up to a rictus grin, going for shit-eating and maybe getting to self-deprecating. "Basically, Moony, I ran away from you all night, 'cause I thought that you were going to eat me. _That's_ why we were over there."

Immediately, a tight hood of despair dropped itself over Remus' face, wiping away any vitality it had gained over the past half hour. He flopped flat on his back and drove his head deep into the pillow, grinding his teeth as he glared up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, so," he muttered. "Clearly, this isn't working."

Something hot and shameful dropped into the pit of James' stomach. Fuck his stupid skittishness and his stupid _impotence_. "No! No, Moony, it's fine. I just wasn't used to it, and it's fine. We'll make me a set of, I dunno, armor, or something, for next time, and we'll figure it out, just like we always have."

Remus didn't even open his eyes. "Prongs, kindly shut the fuck up."

James froze. Two curse words from Remus in twenty minutes. This was a Serious Werewolf Talk. But at least he knew where this one was headed. Remus had given each Maurader some variation of this Talk at least once a semester since 2nd Year, in which he thanked them, tears in his eyes, for learning to become Animagi and risking injury and life-threatening detention to sneaking out with him and just…for being his friends, because _he _couldn't understand why they would want to be friends with a disgusting creature like him. It always ended with him begging them to stay away from him, to not risk their lives with him when he transforms. And of course, they blithely ignore him and nobody ever mentions how pathetically vulnerable and grateful Moony looks when they rap on the door to the Shack on full moon nights.

James knows the patterns and rhythms of this talk, so he decideed to head Moony off at the self-sacrificial pass. "Look, mate, honestly, it's getting old, you thinking that we'll ever abandon you. Or, you know, listen to you, at all."

"Jesus, James," Moony said, dully. "For the first time, maybe ever, that's actually not what I'm saying."

Perturbed, James sat upright in his uncomfortable chair, and leaned closer to Remus.

Moony lifted his hands to gesture to the well-lit and antiseptic Hospital Wing, then slowly let them drop towards his still-healing chest. "This is the third time in three months that I've ended up here, after a transformation. The last time was September, in 3rd Year." His lips curled up sardonically. "I had two and half years of mostly painless, mostly _safe_ transformations."

He lifted his head and looked at James, and steely resolve lit his amber eyes. "I love you, James, for doing this for me, and I don't have enough words, to say thank you, but if you're going to do it, actually do it, then."

He shut his eyes again, as if the weak light of the Hospital Wing, or maybe the fact that it was only James beside his bed, and not the other half of their foursome, was simply too much.

"We need all four of us. _I _need all four of us. It only works when it's all four of us."

The hot, shameful, _impotent _thing squatting foully in James' stomach churned. Because Moony was fucking right.

* * *

><p>Two months ago, James had left a gleeful Sirius and a worried Peter on the floor of the Common Room in his mad haste to save Snape (and Moony, for that matter) from the snarling hunger of the Wolf. Remus was burned with the Wolfsbane that lined the tunnel, and had woken in this Hospital Wing.<p>

Last month, James and Sirius had gotten into a bare-knuckle fight just outside the reach of the Whomping Willow, as Remus shivered in the Shack under the light of the full moon. James had refused to let Sirius down the tunnel and Sirius had refused to be kept out, and they brawled until they tumbled into the path of the Willow and were both knocked out. Remus was trapped in the Shack with his Wolf, and shredded the skin on his legs and hands with his own teeth, and had woken in the Hospital Wing.

And last night, after Sirius skived off all of his classes to drink two pints of Firewhiskey and hold drunken court in the Common Room, and after he had passed out on his sofa under the bare legs of Marlene McKinnon, James and Peter had spent the night running nervously ahead of the Wolf, doing their utmost to stay clear of its teeth, and Remus had woken up in the Hospital Wing.

And he was fucking right that the last time he'd woken up in the Hospital -before the recent incident with Snape and a dare and a near-miss that still gives James gibbering nightmares- had been September of their 3rd full moon had come just a few days into the new term, and Remus, fresh from three months of full moons spent chained in his parents' basement, was motherfucking morose. And, in trying to cheer him up, each boy had done something stupid or childish or dangerous, and had gotten themselves nabbed by three separate professors. Detention had kept them all trapped in the castle, and Remus, obviously, had woken up in the Hospital.

* * *

><p>So now, finally, James understood what Remus is asking him –or rather, telling him. Remus is telling him to forgive Sirius, to let him back into the idiosyncratic little club they had created for themselves, to actually fucking<em> speak<em> to him, for the first time in 62 days.

But _fuck _that. Because the only reason Remus is here, sitting in the Hospital Wing, and not dirty and scabrous in Azkaban or rotting, headless, in the ground, is because James pulled Severus Snape out of the Wolf's jaws, after Sirius sent Snape into them. Sirius tried to murder Snape, and he nearly murdered Remus, and how, _how_ can that ever be forgiven?

James gritted his teeth and glared at Remus. "Maybe you're used to everyone shitting on you, mate," James snapped, making _mate _sound like _dipshit_. "But he's not going to get away with what he did. No fucking way."

Remus didn't flinch before the torrent of James' rage, and instead raised one dignified and disdainful eyebrow.

And this, exactly, James knows, is why as much as everyone always faffs on about James Potter and Sirius Black, it's Remus who is actually James' competition, and actually James' equal. Neither Peter nor Sirius could (or would) withstand James at his angriest and most commanding, but Moony doesn't flinch. And that's probably because Sirius is chock full of arrogance but has zero confidence, and Peter has almost none of either, whereas Moony, for all of his solemnity about library books and his fragile girl's wrists, is dignified and confident and is maybe actually the first of them to grow up to be a man.

James rubbed his eyes and re-grouped. _Shouting is never the tactic to take with Remus_, he mused. _He always makes you feel exactly like a toddler whining for help because he's climbed too high and can't get down._

"Look, Moony," he tried again, pitching his voice lower. "We've talked about this. He needs to be, held accountable, for his choices. We can't just forgive him and forget it." He shook his head against the nausea building in the back of his throat. "They would have fucking beheaded you, Moony. You would have died on your fucking knees on a block where they kill dangerous animals."

"But Snape didn't die, and I wasn't executed, James."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time I won't be there to pull Snape out!"

Remus snapped his teeth together with an audible click. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and stretched his shoulders luxuriously before finally looking back at shook his head sadly. "And _that_, Prongs, is the whole point, isn't it?" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat facing James, feet squarely planted on the floor.

"This isn't some noble snit, and you're not fighting any battles on my behalf. You're just royally pissed that Sirius didn't sit, stay and fucking play dead when you told him to." Moony grimaced, his hand clasped against his still injured right side. "You're just pissed that you don't, contrary to what everyone in the whole world thinks, actually _own _Sirius Black."

James rocked back in his chair, eyes burning. His hands scrabbled for purchase against the carved sides of the chair, but he could find no anchor. Because, fuck, _yes_, Moony was right. James had been walking around in a blaze of righteous anger for the past two months, but fuck, _yes_, lurking at the back of his brain, skulking in the shadows is a tiny bit of surprised fury that Sirius hadn't listened to him. Hadn't _obeyed _him. That he wasn't, in fact, as in control and as powerful as he'd always thought. That he wasn't making some glorious difference in the blighted life of some deserving boy.

And it wasn't that he was actually surprised that Sirius had tried to hurt Severus Snape; it was, actually, that he'd tried to do it after James had explicitly told him not to.

All the nausea and fury and frustration and resentment and motherfucking impotence that had been swirling around inside of him for the past two months suddenly coalesced into something sharp and flinty and shot right between his eyes. It hurt to keep them open, and it hurt to look at Remus' tired, lined face, so he shut them and leaned forward.

"He just…he can't be allowed to…get away with it."

He could _hear _Remus' nod, even with his eyes closed. "He won't, James. We won't let him. But, you know that forgiveness isn't the same thing as letting him get away with it." The bed creaked as Remus shifted closer.

"I mean, Prongs, he knows, already, about punishment and people being mad at him and, banishment, I guess. Let's show him that not everyone is like that."

James didn't throw up, but it was a close thing. He peeled his eyes open, stricken with shame and frustration, ready suddenly to forgive Sirius, to forgive anyone, _everyone _that would let him. But Remus wasn't looking at him. Tears were rolling slowly down Moony's face, but he didn't seem to notice them. He sat, hunched on himself, staring at his delicate girl's wrists that once a month sprouted paws with claws that could rip a man in two.

"You have to forgive him, James. He's not a monster."

Remus ground his teeth and James could see his throat working as he swallowed. "He's not a monster. Because _I'm _not a monster. Because people are the sum total of _all _of their parts, and you can't just reduce them to their parents, or their heritage, or their blood." He scrubbed his wrists together, as if he could wash the lycanthropy away. "Or, you know, the curse that's floating around inside their blood."

Finally, he looked back at James, and the despair was plain and heart-rending. "He can be saved James. He can be saved from them. And I need, I need…all three of you. I know it's selfish to ask for this, but I'm tired and I hurt and this is what I need."

Carefully, cautiously, James nodded.

And Moony, as if that had snapped the final thread of his strength, fell back across his bed and slept.

* * *

><p>James heard Remus stirring half an hour later. He almost laughed as Remus squinted one bleary eye at him, but smothered it, in case it disturbed any of their newly established equilibrium.<p>

"Still here, mate?" Remus said groggily.

James smiled. "Yeah, you?" He stood up, and stretched. "Think you'll stay here til dinner?"

Remus shook his head, still buried under the duvet that James had spread over him earlier. "G'on, I'm fine." He rolled away, cocooning himself tightly, and James allowed himself to laugh, now that Remus couldn't see. Quietly, he scooped up his bag and turned towards the exit.

"Hey, Prongs?" Remus muttered, his voice muffled.

James turned back, slouched under his bag, ready for whatever bit of muzzy wisdom Remus chose to impart.

"Remember, in 3rd Year, in September, that time when you all got detention, and couldn't come to the Shack with me?" Remus shifted, and the duvet fell away, un-muffling his voice just enough.

"Well, Sirius didn't go. He skived off and came to the Shack with me and we just stayed there, 'cause he wasn't big enough to keep me safe by himself. To keep me safe, from me."

Remus' face creased with closed-eyes anger, and James was frozen, leaning over the bed, straining to catch every groggy word.

"His fucking father whipped him, wi' a fucking horsewhip, for blowing off Slughorn. And I begged him to leave, but he jus' said, 'S'ok, Moony, someone's gotta be here when you wake up, to tell you that you didn't hurt anybody.'"

Remus tucked his hands under his chin, and sighed, on the cusp of sleep. "Jus' gotta remember, Prongs…he also did that."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: See, look, I wasn't kidding about updating! **

**Thanks so much for reading, everyone- I hope you like it, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Blackened Nuance**

"For...aghhhhh." _Shit. _James Potter paused outside the Portrait Hole, his mouth frozen around the first syllable of the password. _Forgammon_, he mused idly, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the shiny, warped floorboards that lined this stretch of the corridor. _Who the fuck comes up with these stupid passwords?_ He flicked a glance up at the Fat Lady, who was eyeing him beadily, clearly perturbed by his unaccustomed hesitation.

_Moony probably knows_, he reminded himself. _Fuck_, _they've probably asked him to be on the highly-trustworthy committee that meets in McGonagall's office on odd Tuesdays and plays balderdash until they come up with the monthly passwords._

He turned, fractionally, away from the entrance to the Common Room, ignoring the Fat Lady's heavy sigh, back towards the Hospital Wing and its wolfish occupant. _Maybe I'll go ask him. He's in such a delicate, _sharing _little state, maybe he'll..._

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, James."

He whipped around, expecting to see the sweep of Lily's burnished copper hair even as her voice echoed inside his brain. But the corridor was empty- even the Fat Lady had grown bored of his stalling and had shuffled away.

Because that was exactly what he was doing: stalling. He was skulking outside of the dorm, hoping for the tiniest distraction or the barest excuse, so that he didn't have to go inside and figure out how he was supposed to put Sirius and himself back together again.

But, no, he wasn't going back to the Hospital Wing to pepper Moony with inane questions about the Gryffindor security system, mostly because the Lily-voice that lived in the back of his head basically told him not to, but also because he wasn't a fucking coward. And because his father had always told him that a man owns up to his mistakes, and his mother had always told him that the best friends are the ones that make peace. Because he'd grown up in a family and in a community that taught him to search for the best in all those he met and all that he did -to help others be and think and _feel _excellent. Because he knew, deep in his bones, all the way back to his earliest memories, that his parents loved every hair on his head, and every thought that lived within it. Because he knew how it felt to be cherished, and he knew how it felt to be _forgiven_, and now, he could man the fuck up and do that for Sirius...as soon as the Fat Lady came back to let him in.

"Hmph." James laughed, frustrated, and stalked across the hallway to sit against the rough stone wall. The shadows were lengthening in the high, narrow windows that lined the passage-way, and students would soon be pouring down the hall in a mad dash to dinner. James could wait a few minutes more- another few minutes certainly wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of two months of furious silence and Marauder in-fighting. And maybe, a few more minutes would give the voices in his head - the brightest ones; the ones that spoke to him with his father's gravitas and his mother's mischief and Remus' wisdom and Lily's grace- time to defeat the dark thoughts that swirled at the edges of his brainspace. The dark thoughts that sounded, terribly, like _his _true voice, which still, 62 days later, vibrated with fury at what Sirius had done.

Moony was right, and he was right to ask James to heal this, to heal them -it was James that had pulled them together in First Year and it was him that was pulling them apart now- but still, a dozen yards away from Sirius, separated by only a square of canvas and his own hesitation, and James wasn't sure how to fix it.

Because, regardless of his twisted family and their more twisted worldview, regardless of how Snape sometimes just _begged _to be fucked with, and regardless of the fact that James had told him not to, _Sirius should not have done it_. He should not have fucking done it, and James hasn't talked to him for 62 days and the past 30 minutes because, for the first time in his entire life, James simply doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to wrap his brain or his tongue or his soul (or whatever) around the magnitude of what Sirius did, and around the irrevocable tragedy that almost befell them. He doesn't know the words, or maybe he doesn't actually have them, so silent fury had been his refuge, until Moony knocked him out of it this afternoon.

James sighed noisily, and tipped his head back against the wall. He blinked rapidly in the dimness, as if that would somehow reveal what he should say to Sirius. He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the two-month tension headache. _Too badd magic isn't just wish fulfillment_, he thought ruefully. He could hear the noise of dozens of students gathering bags and queueing at the Portrait Hole to go to dinner and he rolled his shoulders, readying himself for the forthcoming battle.

_Fuck it_, he decided suddenly_. Fuck not having the words- it's his fucking turn to talk. _

Sirius hadn't joined the swarm of hungry Gryffindors that James waded through on his way into the Common Room; James could see him sprawled on the couch where he'd slept for the past two months, in a pile of Firewhiskey bottles and Marlene McKinnon. His arm was flung up over his face, as if the pale firelight was too much for his tired eyes. Marlene looked far more awake and far less hungover; and when she spotted James heading resolutely towards Sirius' sofa, she grinned, and shoved Sirius' legs off of her own. Sirius barely stirred as Marlene extricated herself, but his lips flattened into a grimace as she pulled away. As she passed James she aimed a mocking punch at his shoulder, winked, and disappeared into the final wave of Gryffindors heading to the Great Hall.

James stopped at the edge of the couch, and planted his feet. Sirius didn't move, and _fuck him_ if James was going to speak first. Instead, James kicked an empty Firewhiskey at the foot of the sofa against another one, making a loud _clink_ in the silent Common Room.

"Oi," Sirius muttered, slowly pulling himself upright. "That's mine, Davy, and if...oh." Sirius looked flustered, and frightened, just for a second, then remembered that showing weakness was a good way to get it knocked out of you. He sat back and spread his arms along the back of the sofa, and smirked at James.

"G'morning, Prongs," he said cheerfully.

James grimaced. "It's dinner time, Sirius."

"Well, nearly there, then." He surveyed the corner of the Common Room that he'd claimed as his own, cordoned off by his trunk and an untidy stack of books and robes and Quidditch equipment. "So, come to kick me off this little island, too?"

James flinched. Sirius'd said it like it was a challenge, like he would welcome the fight, but James knew -the same instinctive, automatic way he knew that the Death Eaters were evil- that if he told Sirius to sleep in the corridor or in the Owlry or in the fucking broom shed on the Pitch, that Sirius would do it. He would do it because he was being eaten away by the guilt that clouded his grey eyes and pale skin, and he would do it because he was used to obeying orders from people that he loved, even when those orders were stupid or shameful or excruciating.

James took a deep breath. "We need to talk, Sirius. Let's go up to the dorm. Please."

He turned, and walked across the Common Room to the staircases. He'd said _please_, because sometimes concessions were necessary, but he also hadn't waited for Sirius to agree. And, most importantly, he'd said _we need to talk, _rather than _I need to talk to you_, because he'd promised himself that Sirius would be the driver of this conversation, and hopefully, of this reconciliation.

Fifteen minutes later, when Sirius walked into the 5th Year boys' dorm, James didn't lift his head. He did point, and seconds later, Sirius dropped onto the desk chair James had dragged to face his own.

Sirius' face was twisted up into a smirking snarl, to show James just how much of a joke he thought this was. "So, Headmaster Jimbo, how's tricks?" His voice was steady, but the hands that he'd arranged so (deliberately) carelessly on his thighs were trembling, slightly.

James kept his mouth shut, and let the silence play out the rope with which Sirius could hang himself, or alternatively, pull himself back up. Instead, he studied his best friend. Sirius looked like a stranger. His face was drawn and greyish, and his mouth was cracked and inflamed. He'd bitten his nails to the quick, and angry sores dotted his cuticles. He was hunched in on himself, no longer effecting the lord-of-the-manor-couch act that had carried him through the past two months, and he kept flicking his eyes up at James, and then dropping them back to the floor. He looked sick. He looked like he was waiting for James to hit him. He looked like he would welcome it.

_Snape would've looked worse, if Moony'd mauled him_, James reminded himself harshly. _And Moony would've looked fucking worse, with his head chopped off_. Rage propelled James to his feet, and Sirius shrank back in his chair, making himself a smaller target.

James swallowed a groan. So, _yes,_ this was probably not the first time Sirius had been ordered upstairs, out of earshot and rescue-shot, to be punished by someone he loved, but _fuck_, that doesn't mean he gets to set a werewolf on his classmate, no matter how much he (maybe) deserved it. And James was done waiting.

He whirled, hands clenched at his sides, trying to hold his body-shaking anger in, and faced Sirius. He'd promised himself he would be calm and rational and the bigger man and everything, but honestly, fuck that.

"How fucking could you, you pathetic, despicable piece of _shit_?"

Sirius' bowed head dropped lower, and his neck trembled.

"No, you fucker," James snapped. "Look at me."

Slowly, Sirius lifted his chin, and his eyes were black with terror and pain. His mouth yawned open, and James could hear his teeth chattering. His lips opened and closed around tiny puffs of air and sound, but when James stepped closer to hear him, he flinched back and dropped his head again.

"Fuck you, Black," James growled. He felt buoyant with rage; cartoonish, like his feet couldn't stick to the ground anymore. Fuck magic; he wanted to wrap his hands around Sirius' neck and shake the answers out of him.

"Use your words, and fucking explain yourself to me."

Sirius gasped, almost silently. "I'm s-sorry, so sorry," he whispered. He spread his arms, palms down, and lifted his chin, giving James a straight shot to his neck. "It's, do whatever you want to me, I-I deserve it."

_Fuck_. "I'm not going to hit you, Sirius," James said. "As much as I maybe want to. But you need to talk to me."

Sirius ran both his hands through his hair. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. It sounded like he was knocking 62 days worth of words free from his strained vocal cords.

"I was hiding from my cousins, that day on the train, when you found me," he said softly, still starting at the floor by James' feet.

James dropped down into his desk chair, perplexed by Sirius' opening salvo. "First Year, coming to Hogwarts?" he asked, and when Sirius nodded, rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit, Sirius, but..."

Sirius held up a shaking hand. "Just before we all Flooed to King's Cross, my mum had done a nutter, and slapped me round the foyer, and I didn't want, to see anyone, that had seen it. So I was hiding. And you found me." He grinned, apparently remembering, and James felt the tiniest particle of his teeth-clenching fury dissipate.

"And," Sirius continued, "it's 'cause of you that I'm in Gryffindor, but no matter what, I wasn't going to be in Slytherin. If the Hat'd tried to put me there, I would have clamped it on my head til it changed its mind." He lifted his head, and fixed his eyes on James' chin.

"See, if I do something first, it's like they use up all their punishment on me, and so when Reg does it, they don't even care." Sirius absently rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, as if he were trying to help the words out into the air.

"And, it wasn't even trying to get away from all the Pureblood shit, because what the fuck did 11-year-old me know? It was just...trying to get away from _them_. To get Reg someplace safe." He shuddered. "So, I thought, I'd stay the fuck out of Slytherin, and give them two years to take it out on me, and then, when the Hat put Reg in Ravenclaw, or whatever, they wouldn't care."

Sirius sighed, and for the first time in two months, looked James in the eye. "But I fucked that up, didn't I?" he said bitterly. "Reg's a Slytherin and is probably a baby Death Eater and...thinks torturing little girls is a fun afternoon."

James gasped, and Sirius grimaced. "Yeah, Prongs, I know. I know it wasn't Snape that did that to Carey. I know it was Reg. I knew it then, and I did it anyway. I just...I didn't _want _it to be Reg. 'Cause, then, _fuck_, it's all been for nothing. All the... everything they've done, it means _nothing_, because he's torturing little baby girls with the same shit my father did to me." Sirius groaned, and it was anguished and distraught and bitter.

He smirked, and this time it wasn't a facsimile of a joke; it was a desperate attempt to keep himself from crying.

"The, summer after First Year, when I was home, they wouldn't let me eat with them, and Kreacher couldn't clean my room or wash my clothes, because _filthy blood traitors don't deserve the creature comforts." _Sirius twisted his face in a horrible parody of his mother, and James swallowed tightly. "My, my father, he, um..." A dull flush spread across Sirius' pallid skin, and James suddenly, desperately, did not want to hear the end of this sentence. "Well, he caned me, til..._fuck me._" Sirius inhaled harshly, and shook himself, as if he was trying to rid his skin of the shame of it all. "It wasn't pretty, and it sure wasn't fun, and he did it once a week, like a fucking _appointment_, so I would learn what happens to blood traitors. And I took it, so when it was Reg's turn...he would be _safe_." Sirius sighed, as if he'd run out of words.

"But, _shockingly, _that clearly didn't work out the way I planned."

James leaned back in his chair, and the creak of the wood shook Sirius out of his pitiful hunch. He stared up at James, beseechingly, and clasped his hands against his chest, as if he was praying.

"I wasn't trying to kill Snape, James, I swear. I swear I wasn't. I didn't think he'd have the balls to go into the tunnel, I swear I didn't." Sirius closed his eyes. "I just, I wanted it to be him, Prongs, and not Reg. I wanted it to be _anybody_, fucking Dumbledore even, that would hurt a little girl, but not my brother. But it _was _him, and...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry_." He thumped his clenched hands against his ribs, as if he hit hard enough, maybe he'd be able to stop his heart.

James exhaled. Okay. No more silent treatment; no more forcing Sirius to prove himself over and over to people who weren't even paying attention. No more brothers who rejected your sacrifices and used your father's torture curses on little girls. In fact, no more fucking sacrifices, full stop. He reached out, and pulled Sirius' hands away from his chest.

"Okay, Padfoot. Okay."

The Fifth Year dorm was almost pitch black when they heard the rumblings of students returning from dinner. James had rescued the stash of Firewhiskey from underneath the couch in the Common Room with the first armload of Sirius' belongings, and they'd spent about ten minutes resurrecting Sirius' space in the dorm, and the next hour sprawled on the floor, draining all the dregs they could find.

Sirius looked around the darkened room, surprised to find that they were the only occupants. "Oi, Prongs, where's Wormtail?" he asked.

"Oh, he's, uh, with... Moony, probably," James said.

Sirius' eyes widened comically. "Shit, Prongs, I thought you were going to say that Wormtail'd gotten himself a bird." He delicately laid a hand on his heart, and looked mournfully into James' eyes.

"Jimbo, you _cannot_ let him lose his virginity before you. You've got to promise me." Sirius turned away slowly, riffling amongst the mostly empty Firewhiskey pints.

James could feel the blush all the way up to his hairline, and thanked Merlin that it was dark and Sirius was drunk. He licked his lips, ecstatically ready to tell Sirius about the motherfucking _momentous _Lily Evans-event he'd missed, but then, shut his mouth so hard his teeth clacked.

Probably, if he ever wanted to get Lily in his bed again, he should _not _tell Sirius Black all about it.

Sirius patted his arm solicitously. " 'M just looking out for you, Prongs. You know I say it, with love, only." He hiccuped, and dropped his hand, still loosely clutching his Firewhiskey pint.

James grinned, maybe for the first time in two long months. He gently clinked his glass against Sirius'. "Yeah, mate, I know."

**A/N: So, the question of how the Marauders dealt with the fact that Sirius Black tried to kill Severus Snape with a werewolf, namely, Remus Lupin, has bugged me since reading OTTP. So...clearly, I wrote 80,000 words to try to clear that up for myself. Still don't know if I've succeeded, but this is my version of it, at least.**

**As always, I am so grateful to everyone who reads this, and I would love to hear what you think! **


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